


Papers, Please!

by rhysiana



Series: Samwell Faculty AU [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (Johnson has a glancing mention), Alternate Universe - College Faculty, Check Please Big Bang 2016, I think we managed to get everyone in here except the coaches, M/M, all the other usual ships are here, but I'm not tagging them as such because they're background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8448205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysiana/pseuds/rhysiana
Summary: Professor Eric Bittle was looking forward to starting his new job at Samwell University. Co-teaching a new interdisciplinary course on the role of women in World War II is an interesting start to his career at the university but working with Jack Zimmermann, the lead professor for the course, may prove to be a challenge. Fortunately, the other members of the faculty seem nice, and no one can hold out against baked goods forever!***Basically, the faculty AU we’ve all been needing. Zimbits, with sides of Holsom, Charmer, Nurseydex, and Shitty/Lardo. Guest appearances by Bad Bob, Alicia, and Kent. Written for the Check, Please! Big Bang 2016. All characters from Ngozi Ukazu's amazing comic.





	1. Late August-September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The semester looks like it might be off to a rocky start...

**August 24, 2015, Home Office of Professor Jack Zimmermann**

To: eric.bittle@samwell.edu  
From: jack.zimmerman@samwell.edu  
Subject: Women in World War II Lecture- Module 3  
August 24th, 2015. 11:23 AM

Dr. Bittle,

I hope this email reaches you in good spirits. In regards to our previously discussed Women of World War II interdisciplinary lecture, I have attached the final version of the syllabus for the course. I hope to make it available for students within the next week, and as such would appreciate any final comments or criticisms you may have to offer.

Thank you,

 _Dr. Jack Zimmerman_  
Associate Professor  
History Department  
Samwell University

 

To: jack.zimmerman@samwell.edu  
From: eric.bittle@samwell.edu  
Subject: RE: Women in World War II Lecture –Module 3  
August 24th 2015, 11:31 AM

Dr. Zimmerman,

The course outline looks perfect. You’ve done an amazing job! I’m glad we’ve figured this all out!

See you in September,

 _Dr. Eric Bittle_  
Associate Professor  
Cultural Studies Department  
Samwell University

 

“Did you post your course readings, Shits?” Jack asked, not looking up from his computer screen.

“Yesterday!” Shitty answered.

Jack made a face, “I have mine up, so does Larissa…”

He started typing a new email.

 

To: eric.bittle@samwell.edu  
From: jack.zimmerman@samwell.edu  
Subject: Women in World War II Lecture- Module 3  
August 24th, 2015. 11:50 AM

Dr. Bittle,

Just a quick reminder, I noticed you have not uploaded your readings to the course site yet. Yours are the only ones missing. If you could have them up by the August 31, it would be greatly appreciated.

 _Dr. Jack Zimmerman_  
Associate Professor  
History Department  
Samwell University

 

The door of the study creaked open and Larissa crept in softly, taking a seat on the couch without saying a word. Shitty edged closer to her and she put her head on his shoulder, muttering something. All Jack could make out were the words “too dry” and “fucking stupid,” before tuning out again, refreshing his email inbox and fiddling with the settings on the course page for his modules. Eric hadn’t replied yet and Jack found himself growing irritable. Shitty and Larissa talked quietly in the background as Jack focused on his to-do list. The unchecked box in front of “have all course reading lists posted” irritated him endlessly.

It was nearly an hour later when his laptop finally pinged to announce another email.

 

To: jack.zimmerman@samwell.edu  
From: eric.bittle@samwell.edu  
Subject: RE: Women in World War II Lecture –Module 3  
August 24th 2015, 12:30 PM

Dr. Zimmerman,

I’m so sorry for the delay! I got caught up in re-reading my selections and lost track of time. I’ll have the list up as soon as possible. Thanks for the reminder! Have a great week!

 _Dr. Eric Bittle_  
Associate Professor  
Cultural Studies Department  
Samwell University

 

“He means three days,” Jack grumbled, turning his chair to face Shitty and Larissa. “He’s going to take three days to upload.”

“What’s the rush?” Shitty replied. “We have time.”

“Why does he use so many exclamation marks?”

“Why does it bother you?” Larrissa asked, turning a page of her book, not even looking up. “Let the man do what he does.”

“There’s a schedule,” Jack complained, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “I made it for a reason.”

“It’s his first semester at Samwell, let the guy have fun with the syllabus. God knows it just gets tedious afterwards.”

Jack thought back to his first semester at Samwell, newly married with a ring warm on his finger, the life of a hockey player neatly packaged up and put away in favor of a new one of academic books and classrooms filled with facts pulled out of history books, ancient world maps, and bright-eyed young students who wanted to know things. He had worked hard for this moment, in the tired hours at the back of the team bus on away games and in the quiet hours of the morning in the off-season. He had juggled things heavier than himself to reach this point and he wanted to savor it. Kent had gone house-hunting with him and agreed that home would be the two-story house about thirty minutes away from the Samwell campus. Home would be anywhere that Jack was, he had said, love electric and touchable around them. Jack had carried Kent to the sofa and Kent had asked Jack to promise he would be better now. Be better. He knew Kent hadn’t meant it that way, but Jack had been trying to be better for as long as he could remember.

Jack closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about Kent.

Shitty nudged him with the toe of his shoe. “Come on, Zimmermann, lighten up.”

Jack forced a smile. “Okay, but if it’s not up in three days, I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t. He’s cute.” Larissa smirked, getting up and stretching. “And he’s so preppy.”

“It’s the first years,” Shitty mused. “So full of life.”

Jack grumbled something in response and stood up. “Still going to kill him.”

“No, you’re not.” Shitty grinned.

“Probably not.”

Jack couldn’t help but smile at them as they all walked downstairs into Jack’s kitchen. He thought back to that first day at Samwell, standing near the faculty offices and thinking that this was the beginning of something new and brighter. Something that he could be just himself doing. Larissa had come down to welcome him, followed by a tall man wearing a dark blue blazer and a floral tie, his hair longer than hers.

“Jack, this is Shitty,” she had said. “Shits, this is Jack. I have a class now, be good to him.”

“Shitty?” Jack had wondered, reaching out to shake the hand the man extended.

“Shitty to friends and faculty. Dr. Knight to my students. Rumor has it they also call me ‘The Shit,’ though I have yet to personally witness this, much to my dismay,” Shitty said. “Nice to meet you.”

Before Jack could reply, the man had continued, bounding up the steps into the building two at a time like an overgrown child, “Larissa says you’ve been wanting to teach here for a while. Samwell is a dump, but it’s a good dump. Doesn’t pay as much as the NHL, though. History, huh? I teach Politics, Gender Studies, and Law. About five courses a semester, it’s fucking crazy.”

Jack didn’t say a word through the entire campus tour, but he realized he didn’t have to with Shitty. Shitty talked to him like they’d known each other their whole lives. Shitty didn’t ask questions that Jack didn’t want to answer, and Shitty didn’t make assumptions. Shitty was where his life as something other than a hockey legend began.

Standing in his kitchen, he looked at them as they dug through cabinets before declaring that Jack was a terrible host and leading the way to the door.

“Lunch,” Shitty announced, “is where we are headed. Larissa, my friend, dial up the bros.”

“Already on it,” she replied, texting, slipping on her shoes, and grabbing her bag all at once. Jack stared in amazement at her casual coordination as he picked up his keys from the counter and locked the door behind him. They headed to his car, Larissa barely coming to his shoulder, Shitty jabbering away by his other side.

It had been three years since he had started teaching at Samwell, and navigating the roads had become such familiar habit, he didn’t even have to think as he pulled into a spot outside their lunch place.

Justin Oluransi and his husband sat at a table near the window, animatedly waving as they approached the doors. Shitty burst into the diner excitedly and Larissa and Jack followed.

“How’s it going?” Adam asked, fist-bumping Jack.

Larissa sat down and grabbed a menu. “He’s been bitching about the new professor he’s working with.”

“That’s a strong word, eh? I’ve been...discussing my worries,” Jack replied, sitting down.

“Which are?” Justin inquired, brown eyes studying Jack intently.

Shitty rolled his eyes. “He’s not as timely as our princeling here.”

Jack shrugged. “It bothers me.”

“Is this for the World War Two class?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s the interdisciplinary structure?”

“The planning has been great and we definitely have a solid base, but the question is still whether or not it’ll work with students,” Larissa answered, waving to the waiter.

“It was such a good idea, Jack,” Adam commented. “I’m surprised the administrators agreed to it, though. It seems difficult to carry out.”

“Which just means we have to work four times harder to make sure it goes smoothly,” Jack pointed out. “Imagine the quality of future courses we could pull off if this works.”

“I was thinking about a biology of sex and gender class, Shits,” Justin put in. “I’m assuming the turnout for that would be amazing.”

“Amazing!” Shitty muttered, twirling his mustache between his fingers. “There’s a lot to work with there, my man.”

“We could even divide it up into two courses! Jack is right. We need this to go well.”

“See?” Jack said, raising his hands as if to say “so there.”

Larissa shrugged. “All I’m saying is give Eric a chance. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Are we talking about the tiny blond?” Adam asked.

“The one and only.”

“Aw, Jack, give the man a chance. I was talking to him the other day in the offices, he knows his stuff.”

The waitress arrived, setting out a jug of lemonade on the table and noting their orders. “Twenty minutes!” she said, smiling as she disappeared into the kitchens.

“No more work talk,” Shitty begged. “Has anyone heard from Poindexter and Nurse?”

Justin nodded, taking a sip of lemonade. “They’re flying back in three days. Went to Paris, the romantic little shits.”

Jack ignored the wistful feeling in his chest and stared at the black pepper shaker, tapping his foot restlessly against the floor. He looked around him, at Justin and Adam sitting so close there was barely any space between them, at Larissa, who was braiding Shitty’s hair while he rambled on about the gender binary to all of them.

Jack smiled.

This was his reality, a family made up of the friends he had made on the path to where he was now, to becoming the man he had wanted to be despite the anxiety and heartbreak and abandonment and the million and one tiny speed bumps in his way.

***

**August 28, 2015, Eric Bittle’s Apartment**

“Mama, it’s not that I don’t like them. It’s just that…I don’t know,” Eric muttered into his phone as he got some butter out of the fridge.

“What do you mean, Dicky?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m thinking too much.”

“You’ll be fine, sweetheart,” his mother said. “It’s even better than the old job.”

Eric sighed. “Well, Samwell is definitely more accepting of me as a person. Will they be as accepting of my teaching techniques?”

“Those aren’t as strange as you think they are.”

“Samwell is a traditional place, Mama, but goddammit, I don’t think there’s any room to learn anything when some old man is just reciting facts standing on a podium like he owns the world. You’ve got to engage.”

“Honey, you’re worrying yourself for nothing! You haven’t even started yet.”

“But I’ve met the professors I’m working on the World War Two seminar with!”

“And the three of them are stoic old men?”

“Well… no. I’ve already told you about them. It’s just the history professor who’s maybe the problem, Jack Zimmermann, but he’s the one spearheading the whole thing.”

“And?”

“I don’t know, Mama. What if he doesn’t like me?”

“What makes you say that?”

Eric sat down on a stool at the kitchen island, tracing patterns on the marble with his forefinger. “I posted my course readings a little late, and he sounded so annoyed in his emails. Even in all our meetings, he just talks to Duan and Knight…”

“Maybe he’s just shy.”

Eric sighed, an extended exhale. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m always right, sunshine. So, this Zimmermann…is he the one you said retired from the hockey world? Tall, dark, handsome?”

“Mama,” Eric said, trying not to laugh.

“I’m just saying! Office romances do happen...”

“He doesn’t like me!”

“That’s how they all begin!”

He laughed. “I’m sure you would know. I’m going to go bake something, Mama, get my mind off this.”

“Sure, honey. Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Mama. I love you.”

“Me too, sweetheart. Call me soon.”

They hung up, and Eric stood, stretching his muscles in ways that were long-ingrained habit. He hadn’t been on the ice in a while, he thought absently, and he missed skating. He made a pie crust, the dough pliable beneath his hands. Like his students, he thought: pliable in his hands, willing to be shaped in whatever direction he guided them. It wasn’t that the other professors didn’t engage their students, it was just that Eric preferred talking _to_ them, or better yet, _with_ them, over lecturing _at_ them at all. It worked most of the time--they learned things without even realizing that they were in a lecture--and Eric preferred teaching that way. His students were also his friends.

When Eric had sat in on Jack’s classes during his visit in the spring, it had quickly become obvious that Jack Zimmermann took a different approach: His students were part of a team and he was the leader. Perhaps it was the two years of NHL captaincy, but if you were slacking, you would be asked to toughen up, asked if you needed help, and then told to step up your game. He played fair, but he played tough.

Eric thought back to his first year at university: small, blond, gay, figure skater. He’d been a walking punching bag in high school, and he was suddenly given this massive world in which he could be anonymous, if nothing else. It was in that first year, where he had wanted nothing more than to be hidden, that his professors had helped him find his voice. He had always had a lot to say, but it was the careful coaxing from his professors that had helped him find his roots. He wanted to do for his students what his professors had done for him. Even if that put him into disagreement with Professor Zimmermann about style.

Realistically, they had not yet disagreed, but Eric could smell an argument from a mile away and this one was definitely building. He popped the pie into the oven and let out another shaky sigh, trying to remind himself to cross each bridge as he came to it.

***

**September 3, 2015, Samwell University, Classroom 250**

Eric had worked himself into a slight panic, and he kept pacing in the front of the room, wringing his hands and waiting. The first class of his career at Samwell was about to begin in thirty minutes and he didn’t know what he was worried about. Professor Zimmermann was teaching it, Professor Knight was going second (Shitty, he reminded himself, call me Shitty, Professor Knight had said), and he and Professor Duan were just supposed to introduce themselves and say they’d be teaching the last six weeks of the course. Not for the first time in his life, Eric was scared to be in a roomful of eighteen-year-olds.

Jack walked into the room ten minutes later, carrying a cup of coffee, his bag slung over his shoulder. Eric was still pacing.

“You’re early.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I was nervous,” Eric said, smiling. “How was your morning?”

“It went well.”

Eric smiled encouragingly, waiting for Jack to say more, but when he didn’t, Eric went back to pacing.

At about five minutes before the scheduled beginning of class, students started pouring in, chatting and bustling, casting glances at Jack, who was looking intently at the papers spread in front of him, and Eric, who tried his best to smile welcomingly at them. Knight and Duan came in just before the lecture began and Jack shot them a scathing glance, to which they responded by making faces back, clearly uncowed.

Jack cleared his throat and called the students to attention. “It’s the first class of the semester, so I’m assuming today will be the only day I’ll see all of you here! I’m giving everyone five more minutes before I start taking attendance.”

Once Jack finished calling the roll, class came to order, and Jack and Shitty began.

“We’ll be teaching this course in four modules, as you may have already gathered from the course syllabus and outlines,” Jack said. “Professor Knight and I will be teaching the first half of the course, and Professors Duan and Bittle will be teaching the second half. We each have our own styles of teaching, so just… try to be ready for changes in the way things operate when a new module starts.” Jack looked vaguely pained at saying this. “The lecturer schedules are also available online.” He paused, rifling through his notes. “With that, I suppose, I’ll pass this over to Dr. Knight. Of the four professors teaching this course, Dr. Knight and I would like the same rules applied to our lectures. Professors Duan and Bittle have different expectations, which they will let you know about shortly. Dr. Knight?”

“Jack made the rules, I just agreed to them because I’m too lazy to make my own. If you hate them, take it up with him, not me,” Shitty said, as the students laughed, either nervously or politely. “Okay, first of all, no laptops allowed in the classroom while we’re teaching, notes will be taken longhand. You will notice, if you’ve taken other classes with me, that this is not a rule I normally enforce, but I think it will be more effective in this lecture. Studies do show that taking longhand notes is more effective than typing, and you will find that the key to success in this class is paying attention to the lectures. You will not pass this class simply by reading the materials we assign. To that end, attendance is mandatory, roll-call will be taken ten minutes after the hour, as per Samwell’s ten-minute rule. Cell phones and other devices are also not allowed during lecture. Please switch them off.”

He stopped and looked at Jack. “Anything else? Oh, yes, you can eat in class, but please keep all loud snacks outside of this classroom. These aren’t many rules, but we hope that you’ll be following them. Don’t be rude. Also, I rate my lectures R for use of language and imagery. Swearing is how I move through space, so if any of you are of a delicate nature, you’ve been warned.”

Jack nodded at him and Shitty smiled once more. “Back to Jack, then!”

“Actually, we’ll just move this on to Dr. Bittle,” Jack said.

Eric tried not to look too startled. _Thanks for the warning there, buddy,_ he thought. “Umm, hello. I’m Professor Eric Bittle. It’s very nice to see all of you here today…”

***

Eric sighed as he opened his office door, grumbling to himself.

“Oh, hi! You must be Dr. Bittle!”

Eric looked up and smiled automatically at the tall Asian man standing by the second desk in the office. “Professor Chow?”

“Call me Chris!” he said as he extended a hand for Eric to shake.

Eric took it and shook. “And I’m Eric. It’s nice to finally meet you!”

“I got home from California last night, we were off visiting my parents.”

“That’s nice! I’m sure you must be tired, though?”

“Not at all! It’s still three hours earlier for me. Anyway, I was waiting for you. I was meeting some friends for lunch and was wondering if you’d like to join me? They’re professors here too, and a lot of fun to be around!”

Eric mulled over the offer for a minute. Given the choice between lunch or staying in the office and over-thinking the first World War II class, the choice seemed clear. “Lunch sounds great.”

“Great!” Chris picked up his jacket. “It’s just a few minutes away from here.”

Eric followed him out. “So what do your friends teach?”

“Derek teaches English and Will teaches comp sci. Oh, they’re married, by the way, so don’t believe any of their bickering. It’s the twisted way they’ve shown affection since they were grad students.”

“You’ve known them that long?”

“I’ve known Derek since undergrad! We lived together for a while. He was the one who introduced me to my wife.” Chris laughed. “And he will gladly tell you that tale ten minutes into first meeting you.”

They walked into a small diner that smelled of coffee, and Chris led him to a table at the back where a man in a gray blazer was poking a redheaded man’s arm. The redhead did not look amused. “Derek, cut it out.”

“Don’t order the tuna.”

“I want the tuna.”

“NO.”

“It’s not like you have to eat it.”

“Yeah, but I have to kiss you and I hate tuna.”

“I’ll go home and brush my teeth.”

“You’d do that for a kiss? So much effort.”

“There’s no pleasing you, is there?”

“Just don’t get the tuna.”

“Derek, I want to have the tuna.”

“Fine, then I won’t kiss you.”

“Okay, fine, don’t.”

“You’re a terrible husband.”

“I offered to go home to brush my teeth! You wouldn’t accept the offer! I give up! I’ll have a mint later and go back to class.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Is this where we interrupt?” Chris asked, sitting down.

“Chris, is William not terrible?” the not-redhead, who Eric assumed was Derek by process of elimination, asked.

“No,” Chris answered. “I mean, yes? He’s not terrible.”

“See?” Will replied, throwing his hands up in the air. “You’re crazy, I’m fine!”

He noticed Eric then. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Eric said, smiling.

Chris grinned. “If you guys are done being rude, this is Eric Bittle, the new Sociology professor.”

“Hi, Eric!” Derek waved. “Sit down!”

Eric obediently sat and Derek passed him a menu. “Eric, don’t order the tuna.”

“Derek, cut it out already.”

“What’s wrong with the tuna?” Eric asked.

“It’s tuna.”

“You know, if it shuts you up, none of us will order the tuna.”

Derek kissed him. “There’s the man I married!”

Will put his head in his hands. “Chris, why did you let me marry him?”

“It’s always my fault,” Chris explained to Eric. “Why didn’t I stop Derek from getting a titanium ring when I knew they couldn’t get resized? Why didn’t I stop Will from going ahead with the wedding? And when they’re particularly annoyed, why did I bring Derek to the coffee shop where he met Will?”

“You guys met at a coffee shop?” Eric asked, laughing, “That’s adorable!”

“It really was!” Derek said, grinning, “It’s a good story, too. Would you like to hear it? It has romance and drama and just the right amount of angst and tortured pining.”

“English professor,” Chris whispered

“You mentioned,” Eric whispered back, then looked at Derek. “I’m all ears!”

“So, it was the summer of ’98…”

“Jesus Christ, it was not. He doesn’t need five years of backstory before we even meet. It was 2003.”

“You’re no fun. Fine, it was 2003…”

***

“Thanks, Chris,” Eric said, picking up his coat from his chair in the office.

Chris looked up from his laptop, a worry line on his forehead. “For what?”

“Lunch today, introducing me to Derek and Will. Listening to my rant. It was… nice.”

“Oh! Don’t even mention it, Eric! Welcome to Samwell, we got your back.”

Eric smiled. “And I’ve got yours. See you tomorrow.”

Chris smiled back. “Tomorrow!”

Eric was nearly to the elevators when he turned and walked back to their office. He poked his head back in. “Hey, Chris, do you have any allergies?”

“No.” Chris looked confused, “Why?”

Eric gave him a cheerful smile. “Just asking.”

***

**September 10, 2015, Samwell University, Jack Zimmermann’s Office**

Knuckles rapped on his doorframe, and Jack looked up blearily, noting with confusion that his office was dark except for the pool of light spilling from his desk lamp. Derek was leaning against the door, messenger bag over his shoulder, arms crossed. “Jack, seriously. You need to go home.”

Jack fought back against his instinctive embarrassment. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong by working late. Besides… “You’re still here,” he pointed out.

“I’m waiting for Will. He was running a study session for his intro kids who never had computer science in high school.” He pushed himself away from the door. “Come on, you’re leaving with us.”

Jack looked down at the papers on his desk. It was too early in the semester to be able to claim he had too much grading. He would have to concede. He snapped his laptop shut and grabbed his planner, slipping them both in his bag. He followed Derek out of his office and paused to the lock the door behind him.

“Hey,” he heard, and turned to see Will slide his arm around Derek’s waist, pulling him in for a quick kiss. Jack felt his chest clench briefly and looked away.

A hand landed gently on his shoulder. He looked up to see Derek giving him a painfully compassionate look. His jaw tightened. Derek gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before letting go. “You know you can come hang out with us whenever, right?”

Jack couldn’t quite prevent his lips from twisting bitterly before he managed to change it into a kind of pained smile. “I know.”

“Yeah.” Derek sighed. He traded a look with Will, who just shrugged. “Look, will you promise me something?”

“What?” Jack asked cautiously.

“Will you try spending some time out of the house that isn’t just being at work? Like, go read in a coffee shop or something?”

Jack felt bad that he was apparently so transparent, but he was glad Derek seemed to understand without him having to explain. “I… yeah, I can do that.”

***

**September 11th, 2015, Jack Zimmermann’s House**

_Kent,_

_Derek came into my office last night (I don’t know how I ended up staying in the office until so late, but I did, and it’s just… a thing. I like being there.) and he told me to spend more time out of the house. I get it, he’s right. But, really, the house is too fucking big these days._

_I think what I’ve learnt most since our separation is that it’s not healthy to invest so much of yourself in one person. I keep thinking of the way you and I really only needed each other for the most part, and I think that wasn’t right. We should have been more… I don’t know, independent isn’t the right word. We were independent for the most part. I don’t know what the word is, Kenny, I’m not really good at these words, anyway._

_What I’m trying to say is that you were such a big part of who I was, and now that you’re gone, I feel like there’s this huge Kent-sized hole in my life. I don’t know what part of you I’m missing, but I miss having someone on MY team._

_Does that make sense?_

_Sure enough, I have the guys from Samwell and they’re great, and they have my back, but sometimes, it’s too much to come home to an empty place. I wish things hadn’t ended between us, sometimes. I wish you were home tonight because I want to talk about things._

_What’s the point of thinking about these things when there’s so much else to do? Derek is right, I should maybe spend more time in other places. There’s Annie’s on campus, and I’ve only been there once in all the time I’ve taught at Samwell, so maybe I should spend more time there. At the library, too, maybe, or more bookstores. Maybe I’ll take Shitty and go watch a movie. I don’t really know where, but somewhere sounds good._

_Maybe it’s just habit, but I feel like if you read this letter (which you won’t, because I’ll never send it), you’d want to know this: I’m okay, really. I don’t hate you anymore, I’m not even angry about it anymore, most of the time. I know my faults, Kent, and I am so often terrible at being there when someone needs me to be. What happened between us was equally my fault, I’m sure of it. I miss you, terribly, sometimes, but I’m glad we’re apart now. We both deserve something new._

_(I think I’m not angry, at least. Maybe absence makes the heart softer, if not fonder. And maybe time has begun to heal this wound? To some extent.)_

_Jack._

***

**September 13, 2015, Annie’s Coffee Shop**

Jack walked into the warmly lit coffee shop, looking around for an empty table so he could keep his promise to Derek that he would at least spend time in coffee shops when he was reading. Shitty had been disturbingly enthusiastic about this idea when Jack had complained to him about it. The thing was, though Jack would never admit it to them, they were both right. The house felt too big again. There had been a period where he had gotten used to the silence, but lately he’d been missing the sound of the shower on while he drank coffee in the early hours of the morning, or the sound of Netflix while he graded papers, the sound of someone else’s voice. Home alone, he could go hours just getting sucked into the circling thoughts in his head. So, he was out. He was going to sit in the coffee shop, have a cappuccino and maybe a pastry, and he would read a book and relax. He stood in line at the counter, gave his order, and sat down on a table near the window to wait for his name to be called.

“Hi, Professor!”

Jack looked up just as one of his students, John--the name took a few seconds--put a steaming black cup and a pastry in front of him and smiled.

“Oh, you didn’t have to bring it to me,” Jack said, flustered.

“It’s no problem,” John said. “I had to come out to bus a few tables anyway.”

“Whiskey!” a voice exclaimed, and then another boy tackled John in a hug from behind.

John staggered a step, but caught himself quickly and rolled his eyes. “Tony, I’m at work.”

“Oops, sorry.” Tony didn’t look particularly repentant to Jack as he kept one arm around John’s shoulders.

“Whiskey?” Jack asked with an enquiring eyebrow, smiling at the two of them.

“He nicknamed me Tango, so I had to return the favor,” Tony explained.

John sighed. “It was inevitable. John Daniels, Jack Daniels, Whiskey.”

“All you boys need now is a Foxtrot,” Jack said automatically. The two boys stared at each other, apparently shocked. Just as Jack started to berate himself for saying something so inappropriate to _students_ , really, how could he, they burst into giggles.

“How could I have not seen it?” breathed Tony. “Who do we know that seems like a Foxtrot? Maybe Felicia? Or Phillip… but maybe it should be a multi-step reference, like Whiskey…”

John snapped his fingers in front of Tony’s face to refocus him. “Hey! We can work on that later. Let me introduce you while you’re here. This is Professor Zimmermann, the one who teaches that awesome history seminar I was telling you about.”

“Oh, cool! I really wanted to take that this semester, but I ended up in Prof. Johnson’s media studies class instead. Will you have it again next semester? Or next year?”

“Uh, well, it’s an experimental class this semester, so we’ll have to see how it goes this time and see if we can get it approved again for the future. But I’m certainly hoping to teach it again,” Jack replied.

“Great! Oh, I should actually order something. It was nice to meet you!” Tony said over his shoulder as he wove back between the tables to the order line.

John shook his head and turned back to Jack. “Just let me know if you need anything else, Professor.”

“Sure. Thank you, John.” The student smiled as he moved off to wipe down some recently vacated tables and collect stray cups.

Jack picked up his copy of _The Secret Lives of Codebreakers_ , but found himself just staring at the pages, distracted by the warm feeling in his chest. Students actually liked his class. They were telling their friends about it. He could feel some of the anxiety he’d been carrying all semester loosen and took a deep breath.

He smiled, picked up his coffee, and began to read.

***

**September 17, 2015, Samwell University, Jack Zimmermann’s Office**

Someone knocked on the door and Jack looked up as Eric Bittle entered the room, “Oh, hi, Professor Zimmermann.”

“Professor Bittle,” Jack said, willing himself to smile.

“I was just looking for Shitty?”

“He has a class right now. He should be back in about twenty minutes.”

Bittle nodded. “Do you mind just telling him I was here? I can’t seem to be able to reach him through text.”

Jack nodded, “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Jack watched him leave, staring at the empty doorframe before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the notes he was taking.

Shitty came in a few minutes later, “Hey Jack-o.”

“How was class?”

“Excellent.”

“Bittle dropped by.”

“Oh, man, I knew I was forgetting something today.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “What was it?”

“Eric wanted to drop in during my history lecture to see the student reaction. Wanted to change up his lecture notes or something. Now he’s going to have to wait another week.”

“I see.” Jack was silent for a moment. “Well, he could drop in on one of my classes. If he wants, of course.”

Shitty shrugged, but looked pleased. “If you don’t mind, bro. Ask him.”

“I’ll go check his office to see if he’s there.”

“Right now?”

Jack got up. “No time like the present.”

“You don’t want to have enough time to change your mind,” Shitty said mildly, not accusing, but curious.

“Something like that,” Jack replied, walking out. “Back in a bit. Shall we get lunch?”

“I’ll call Lars.”

Jack took the elevator to the Sociology and Psychology floor and knocked on the door to Bittle’s shared office.

“Come in!”

Bittle was sitting at his desk, which was cluttered with textbooks of all sizes, his laptop resting in the middle of the mess. He looked up as Jack entered. “Oh! Professor Zimmermann! Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Shitty just came back and he said he forgot to remind you about class, or he forgot to take you? I’m not really sure what happened there.”

“I think he forgot to tell me when I could drop in. I wasn’t sure what week he was teaching.”

“Well, since we’re alternating, this was his week, but since he forgot to let you know, you wouldn’t be able to sit in his lectures until the week after the next…”

Bittle sighed, “Oh. Well, that’s okay.”

“You could sit in during mine next week, if you’re worried about something that you want to change early, of course.”

“That would be great!” Bittle looked pleased, “I just wanted to see if what I’ve got planned is feasible. I really want this to go well.”

“That makes sense.” Jack was no stranger to the need to perform. “Would you like a copy of the notes I have for the lecture?”

“That would also be great.”

Jack smiled, not really sure what else to say. “Oh, and you really don’t have to call me Professor Zimmermann. I’m just Jack.”

Bittle smiled and extended a hand. “Hi, Jack. I’m Eric.”

Jack laughed as he shook Bittle’s hand. “Hi, Eric.”

Eric laughed, too. “I feel like we’ve started off on the wrong foot.”

“That would be my fault. I’m sure you’ve heard Shitty say something about my robot mode.”

“Heard it, didn’t really listen.” Eric shrugged. “People aren’t robots.”

Jack was mildly pleased. “Exactly. Are you free for lunch? Shitty and I are going to grab some food in a bit.”

“I’d really like to, but…” He gestured to his desk. “I’m on the hunt for this one specific resource for my Sociology of Food class. It doesn’t help that I haven’t read it in a few years and don’t remember the author’s name.”

Jack nodded. “Some other time, then. I’ll email you my notes tonight.”

“Thanks, Jack, I really appreciate it.” Eric smiled again. “Honest.”

Jack waved as he left. “It’s no big deal.”

He walked back to his office, feeling better than he had in a long time.

***

**September 22, 2015, Samwell University, Classroom 250**

“...and so, even though Bletchley Park’s personnel was approximately seventy-five percent women, they had all signed the Official Secrets Act and came out of the war with nothing to put on their résumés other than the most innocuous of office work. Women who were math and science prodigies, who made just as much contribution to the success of the Park’s cryptographic efforts as Alan Turing, were written off as tea girls and file clerks, receiving no public recognition until 2009, not even allowed to discuss their wartime jobs with their own families.”

Jack finished his lecture portion of the class and looked at the students, trying to gauge their reaction. It was interesting material, he knew, and they seemed attentive, but he had never really mastered the transition between lecture and discussion. His eyes met Eric’s where he sat in the back row and he found himself wondering how the other man would start the conversation. _Oh. It’s a conversation,_ he thought.

“So now,” he said as he leaned back against the whiteboard behind him, “taking all that into account, plus the readings, what do you all think about those policies?”

A girl in the front row raised her hand and he nodded. “Well, I mean, it was clearly totally unfair.”

Jack nodded and rolled his hand. “Can you expand on that a bit?”

The girl next to her spoke up. “Because it meant they couldn’t get jobs after the war, since they couldn’t tell anybody what they did.”

Jack cocked his head to the side. “Wasn’t that also true for the men involved?”

“Yeah, but…” The girls looked at each other, clearly trying to put into words the difference they knew was there.

Jack looked up and found Eric smiling slightly. Jack raised a brow at him, and Eric correctly interpreted it as an invitation to join in.

“Let’s consider this from another direction for a minute,” Eric said. “Why did all these women have these jobs in the first place? Why had they been hired? This is something we’ll be getting into a lot more during Professor Duan’s section of the course, but I know you’ve touched on it already.”

“Because the men were all going off to be soldiers,” said a boy near Eric. Jack noticed the students weren’t raising their hands anymore.

Eric was nodding. “Yes, exactly. And when all those men came back, what do you think the men who thought up the Official Secrets Act expected the women to do?”

“Get back in the kitchen,” a girl from the other side of the room said, with great irritation.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with cooking,” Eric said, and Jack _actually laughed_. In class. The students looked about as shocked as Jack felt. He quickly cleared his throat.

“So if you’re a post-war employer and you get an application from a man who has this weirdly bland gap in his employment history during the war, what do you think?” Jack asked.

“That he was doing something he can’t talk about.”

“Yeah, all wink-wink, nudge-nudge.”

“But if it’s a woman?”

“She was just a secretary, like it says on her résumé.”

“And how did the women feel about this?” Eric prompted from the back again.

“I mean, angry, I guess. Frustrated.” Heads were nodding all over the room.

“But we don’t have to guess,” Eric said. “Since things were declassified in 2009, a lot of stories have come out from former Bletchley employees, male and female alike. But even more than that, we can see their more realistic experiences making their way into pop cultural representations of the time. Can anyone give me some examples?”

Hesitation.

“I’m serious, y’all, tell me about the TV you’ve been watching.”

“ _Agent Carter_ ,” someone offered. Excited murmuring spread around the room.

“Yes! Anything else?”

“ _The Bletchley Circle_!”

“A perfect pairing for today’s reading, exactly. More?”

“ _Bomb Girls_ ,” Jack offered. Eric raised his brows in surprised. “Gotta sneak in some Canadian representation here,” he said.

“I’m honestly just relieved to have this confirmation that you actually have a Netflix account, Dr. Zimmermann,” Eric said.

Jack wondered if he was visibly blushing. “Really, Dr. Bittle? Chirping me in my own classroom?”

Eric smirked at him, to general good-natured laughter, and then drew the students’ attention back to the lesson. “And what do all those shows have in common? What experiences can we extrapolate from our course materials and these depictions in media?”

The discussion continued, lively, thoughtful, engaged, and more enthusiastic than Jack had ever had in his class before.

***

“That’s the most fun I think history has ever been for me.”

“Hey, Professor Zee! Loved today’s lecture!”

Jack smiled as his students filed out of the classroom. He turned to Eric. “I think that’s the most fun history has ever been for me, too.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Eric was smiling.

“No, I’m pretty sure it is. So what did you think of the class?”

“It was really interesting! Want to talk about it over lunch? We can make up for the one I didn’t have time for last week if you’re free today.”

“That would be great.”

“Annie’s?”

“Sure.”

They walked out together, Eric already talking animatedly with his hands about points the students had made, Jack smiling down at him as he listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whiskey is here! Our original idea for this fic had a whole other POV stream told through Whiskey's journal entries to give the perspective of an overly observant student picking up on all this faculty gossip, but as you can see, even without that, this project ballooned into a 27k behemoth, so we just have him showing up in a few places now. (With a brief Tango cameo in this chapter!) We still love him, even if his canon counterpart is getting side-eyed at the moment.
> 
> Note from rhys: The title of this fic is a stupid multi-layered joke. "Papers" because professors have to collect papers/exams, "Please!" as the obvious reference to the comic; but also the demand for papers is a reference to _The Great Escape_ because they're teaching a WWII course, and my own friends in college had a weird in-joke where they would demand another person's papers in a terrible German accent for whatever reason due to watching that movie and playing a lot of _Castle Wolfenstein_ , I think? Idk, we were nerds, these things happen. Anyway, stories thought it was funny even after I explained all that, so we kept it.
> 
> Also, [here is a good Tumblr post](http://rhysiana.tumblr.com/post/150240674028/randomingoftherandomness-elodieunderglass) that basically condenses a lot of the subject matter of their course! I also have a course reading list, because I'm that kind of nerd, but I won't inflict that on you all here.


	2. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little personal drama, a little personal growth, and a little bit of legitimately educational Halloween fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is the chapter where Kent shows up. It is arguably less angsty than EpiKegster was in canon, but all the characters are 10 years older here, so, you know, we've attempted to give them slightly greater maturity and better coping mechanisms. There is a very brief mention of past infidelity. (See endnote for all the thoughts behind what is actually a single line in the main text.)
> 
> *Art of Jack and Bitty in this chapter by @youarethegirl!

**October 6, 2015, Samwell University, Jack Zimmermann’s Office**

Jack looked down at the reading he had assigned for that afternoon’s class and frowned. He ran his hands over his face and wondered why he had done this to himself. Logically, yes, this was important material for the students to cover, and objectively this was the best source for them to get it from. But he wished he didn’t have such a vivid memory of when he had found it in the first place.

***

_Jack was already in bed, reading yet another source for his dissertation. Eventually his advisor was going to cut him off from doing yet more research before actually getting started on writing the damn thing, but it seemed like every book or article Jack read led him to three more… Okay, maybe he had a slight problem._

_Kent, who had been reviewing tape in the screening room, peered around the doorframe, and once he confirmed Jack was actually there, came in and crawled up the bed to join him. Jack raised his arm for Kent to tuck himself into his side._

_“Hey,” Kent whispered._

_“Hey,” Jack murmured, pressing a kiss into the top of Kent’s hair._

_Kent had learned not to ask Jack what he was reading unless he really wanted to know, but he seemed to like being able to do this. Jack had worried he might be jealous of Jack’s attention being focused on anything else when they were both actually home at the same time, but in reality he had been incredibly encouraging. Now he settled himself more firmly against Jack’s chest and pulled his phone out of the kangaroo pocket of his sweatshirt to play whatever new game he’d found this week._

_Jack smiled softly and turned the page. He started playing idly with Kent’s hair, gently slipping the familiar cowlicks through his fingers, and Kent sighed in contentment. In that moment, everything was perfect._

***

Of course, everything had not been perfect. Or at least was about to start going downhill. Jack couldn’t even remember when things had started to go wrong anymore.

With a frustrated groan, he forced himself to his feet and tried to banish these thoughts. He had a class to teach. He needed to be focused, ready to answer questions and guide the class discussion. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by thoughts of Kent. It had been more than a year. Unfortunately, forgetting Kent didn’t seem to be a thing he could manage by sheer force of will. He’d certainly fucking tried.

He grabbed his bag and headed to the classroom. Focus had always been his strong suit. If he couldn’t force thoughts of Kent out of his head, at least he could redirect his attention and ignore them. For the next ninety minutes. It was kind of a relief.

He busied himself arranging his materials and getting the attendance book ready. Students were trickling in and taking their seats. When the room started to feel mostly full, he raised his head to check the clock and noticed whispers in the front row. Brow furrowing, he followed the students’ gazes to the door of the classroom, which was now being half-blocked by…

Kent.

Jack blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating, but no, Kent really was standing there, in jeans, a hoodie, and his trademark backwards snapback, which Jack had always assumed he’d grow out of and he never had. He was talking to a student who’d clearly been distracted while trying to enter, not looking at Jack, and Jack was momentarily grateful. He reminded himself to breathe.

Then Kent looked up, his eyes sparking green in the sunlight through the windows, and Jack felt like he’d been punched. The students had finished finding their seats and were undoubtedly expecting him to call roll and get started, but Jack stood frozen at the front of the room.

“Hey, Jack. Can I talk to you?” Kent asked, his voice snapping Jack out of immobility.

“I’ll be right back,” Jack said in the general direction of the students. “You can all use this time to glance over the reading one last time, and we’ll jump directly into discussion when I come back. Mr.”--he glanced down at the roll quickly, eye catching on a familiar name--“Daniels, please come take attendance for me.”

He strode quickly to the door, grabbing Kent’s arm and pulling him into the hall. He made sure the door was closed behind him before asking, “What do you want, Kent? Why are you here?”

“What, I can’t come see you?” Kent cocked his head slightly to the side and gave a little grin.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew this look. “Kent, I am at work. I’m supposed to be teaching a class _right now_.” He was struck by a sudden thought. “You knew that, didn’t you? You didn’t just happen to show up at this particular moment.” He didn’t actually want to hear Kent’s answer.

“Jack?” came an uncertain voice from behind him. He turned quickly and found Eric standing there, looking uneasily between him and Kent. “Do you need any… help?”

There was no way Jack was going to be able to keep his mind on class now. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, actually. Could you take the class today? I have… something… I have to deal with. All the materials are already on the lectern.”

“S-sure. No problem. Just let me know if there’s anything else you need.” Eric shot a look at Kent as he opened the classroom door. For Eric, it was shockingly unfriendly. Kent appeared not to notice.

Jack grabbed Kent’s elbow and towed him down the hall toward his office.

“Do you want to, like, go out for coffee or something?” Kent said, sounding hopeful.

“No,” Jack ground out. “I cannot believe you came here like this, while I was supposed to be teaching. We’ll have this conversation in my office or not at all.”

When they arrived, he pulled Kent in and shut the door, careful not to slam it. The last thing he needed was someone coming to check on what was going on. Thank god Shitty was out. “Why are you here?” he repeated, forcing all the meaning he could into each word.

Kent lost his public face, his bravado fading, his posture deflating. He slumped against the edge of Jack’s desk and stared at his shoes. “It’s just… it’s October. The season is starting. It’s hard not to think about you when the season is starting.”

Jack stared at him, momentarily speechless. “I-- You--” He blew his breath out and counted to ten. Twice. “You came here, to my work, when you knew you would be interrupting me in front of _my students_ to tell me you think about me during HOCKEY SEASON?” He flushed as he lost the fight with his temper.

Kent looked like maybe it was dawning on him that this hadn’t been the best plan. “Um, yes? I just miss you, okay? I miss us.”

Jack crossed his arms. “Well, you didn’t seem to miss us very much when you were sleeping with Ori. How is he, anyway?”

Kent flushed. Jack could see him restraining himself from responding with something he’d regret, and the part of him that hadn’t intentionally been goading Kent (because he deserved it, dammit!) was proud of him for exhibiting that level of maturity. If only he’d exercised it sooner.

“This was a bad idea,” Kent said finally. He pushed himself off of the desk. “I’ll just… go. I’m sorry I bothered you at work.”

Jack’s anger broke. He ached at seeing Kent like this. Almost involuntarily, he took a step forward, one hand extending towards him. “Kenny, I…” He let the hand drop before he could actually touch him. “Look, today was particularly bad because the course I’m teaching is a really big deal, and if this semester doesn’t go well, we’ll never get to teach anything like it again. But just, in general? You understand that you really hurt me, right? I’m not just going to get over that.”

Kent glared at him from under lowered eyelashes. “Yes, I kind of got that point when you divorced me. I am not a child. Don’t fucking condescend to me.”

Jack nodded, conceding the point. “Sorry,” he said shortly.

Kent took a deep breath and clearly tried to calm himself, which was… new. Of course, he’d never needed to do that around Jack before. “Despite my shit choice of timing, I really did come here just to say that I miss you, and I was hoping we could talk again. I don’t expect you to take me back, I know you could never do that. But, Jack--” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to _be_ anymore. You were my best friend. I’ve known you more than half my life. Every time I need to think about something important, my first thought is, ‘I’ll ask Jack what he thinks.’ And then I can’t. And then I hate myself all over again. And I deserve it, but I have to keep acting like everything’s fine, and no one else knows me well enough to know that everything’s not fine, because I never needed to get to know anyone else that well, because I had you.” He stopped to pull in a shuddering breath.

Jack couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled Kent into a wordless hug, knowing it was bad for both of them, but unable to stop himself. He could feel Kent’s fists balled against his chest, and there was dampness soaking through his shirt from where Kent’s eyes were buried against his shoulder. They still fit together so easily, the way they had for over a decade. He didn’t know why he would have expected that to change in just a little over a year. He rubbed soothing circles on Kent’s back, as much for himself as for Kent.

“Kenny,” he said softly, “I can’t do this. I can’t. There is a part of me that will always love you, _always_ , but I can’t be there for you like that anymore.”

“I know,” Kent mumbled into his shirt.

“If there’s something really big you need to talk to me about, you can call me,” Jack said, hoping he wouldn’t regret it. “I promise I’ll try to answer. But I don’t think you should come see me again.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Kent drew back, quickly running his sweatshirt-covered knuckles under his eyes. Then he leaned in again for another hug, fast and hard, before he reached for the doorknob. “Goodbye, Jack.” It sounded more final than Jack had ever heard from Kent before, even when they’d been fighting.

And then he was gone.

Shitty appeared in the doorway, staring down the hall. “Holy shit, was that…?”

“Yeah.”

Shitty gave him a long look. “Are you okay, dude?”

“Not really.”

“Lemme go get Lars, we’ll get you drunk.”

“No, thank you. Not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but that _really_ won’t help right now. I’m just… gonna try to get some work done.”

Shitty blinked, as if assimilating the idea there was something being drunk wouldn’t help, but then his eyebrows snapped together. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?”

“Yeah. Bittle’s covering for me.” He glanced at the clock. “Class’ll be over soon, I should get down there and get all my stuff.”

***

“Thanks, y’all! Glad you were willing to roll with the last-minute change of format. I think you all had great insights, and I’m really looking forward to teaching my module of the class now!”

Eric started to gather together the materials Jack had left, figuring he’d drop them off at Jack’s office on the way back to his own. Worry for Jack gnawed at him. Who had that other man been? The tension between them had been alarmingly palpable. Eric felt uncomfortable all over again just at the memory of it.

A student approached with a question, and Eric shook his worried thoughts off, answering the student with a sunny smile. Jack didn’t need Eric to fight his battles for him. Eric was honestly surprised he’d unbent far enough to let Eric take the class for him.

The student left and Eric finished tidying the stack of papers. He was just taking one last look around to see if he was forgetting anything when an arm appeared at the edge of his vision, reaching for the papers. He jumped and then laughed when he saw who it was. “Oh, Jack!” he said, hand to his chest. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” Jack said, sounding more Canadian than Eric had ever previously heard him. “Um, thanks for covering the class today. You didn’t have to.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure! Really, it was kind of like a preview of what to expect for when my section comes up. The students were all so great! They all seemed to have done the reading, so I had them volunteer to give me an overview, and then we had a really good discussion…” He could tell he was rambling, but Jack didn’t seem to mind, and, well, he needed to know how class had gone, so Eric just let himself keep going. “And then I told them to check the syllabus and your website for the next assignment, since I assumed it would stay the same.”

Jack just nodded, but it didn’t seem dismissive. They had stopped outside Jack’s office door. Tentatively, Eric reached out and touched his sleeve. “I don’t really know the circumstances of today, but… I’m here to talk, or just to listen, if you ever need it.”

Jack blinked at him. “Oh. I, uh, thanks.”

Clearly he’d had enough emotion for the day. Eric had spent a lifetime around stoic jocks; he knew when to back off. “I’ll see you later, all right? Just email if you think of any questions about what I talked about with the class!” With a little wave, he continued on to his own office.

Maybe cookies would help…

***

**October 7, 2015, The Sandwich Shop**

“He was getting better, though,” Shitty said, sounding frustrated.

“That’s why it’s worse, honestly, he was finally getting out again. This is taking him back to square one,” Larissa added.

“I don’t understand why, though. The asshole cheated on him.” Shitty sighed.

Eric put down his fork, “You said they were together for… thirteen years?”

“Yeah,” Larissa nodded, “They got together the summer before they started college, but they’d been friends since they started skating.”

“Which was when Jack was practically a baby.”

“Then how wouldn’t this set him back to the beginning? They’ve been through so much together. Jack hasn’t even been retired for five years, the season starting already probably affects him terribly.”

“It does.” Shitty and Larissa agreed. Larissa worriedly chewed on her lip. “This isn’t good for him.”

“I’d be a mess if my ex showed up,” Eric said with a rueful half-smile. “And I honestly think it would be better if we gave him space, but of course, you guys know him better… Has this ever happened before?”

“Maybe once after the divorce. He showed up at the Zimmermanns’ house in Montreal last Christmas. Jack was a mess and flew home early.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “He sounds like a shit person.”

“Kent?” Shitty shook his head. “Kent is complicated. Their whole relationship was complicated.”

“But they made it work,” Larissa said, twisting her fingers together. “All relationships are complicated, and theirs certainly was, but they made it work. For as long as they could.”

Shitty just looked at her, and Eric suddenly felt like they weren’t talking about Jack and Kent anymore. He felt oddly out of place, like he was looking in on a story that wasn’t his to tell, and looked back at his plate.

***

**October 8, 2015, Samwell, MA**

Jack laced up his obnoxiously yellow running shoes and smiled faintly. Once Kent wasn’t around to go running with him in the mornings, there was no one to complain about the color of his shoes, so one of his first acts of furious defiance after the divorce was finalized was to go out and buy the brightest pair he could find. And while he recognized this as bitter and petty, the shoes still made him smile, so he figured it split the difference as a mentally healthy decision. He pushed up off his front stoop and set out along his habitual running route.

Four blocks later, he fell in beside Justin, who offered him a fist bump. “’Sup, bro?”

“’S all right,” Jack replied.

Justin nodded, then looked back over his shoulder at his cross-country kids. “MOVE IT,” he yelled. He pulled to the side and started falling back until he was pacing the stragglers. “Buck up, buttercups, or Holtzy’s quidditch kids are gonna smoke you.”

Jack bit back a smile and maintained his best hockey captain glare in support of their coach.

“No way, Dr. O!” one of the previously tired-looking kids said, determinedly picking up the pace. His friends followed his example, and Jack and Justin fell in behind them.

Jack allowed his smile to break through. “Why is the quidditch team running with you guys this morning?” He could hear Adam’s voice about a block behind them. He wondered if the people on this street were ever tempted to call in early morning noise complaints.

“Dunno. He must be making them pay penance for something. I steer clear of the quidditch team’s politics. They can get intense.”

Jack just nodded. This was a policy he could understand. He’d once sat through one of Adam’s thirty-minute quidditch rants and understood about a fourth of what was said.

They ran on. As they neared campus, a few of the quidditch players managed to catch up to the cross-country team, to Justin’s encouraging cheers. Jack would have been prepared to view that as good cross-discipline sportsmanship if he hadn’t noticed how it made all the cross-country runners within earshot noticeably pick it up. He grinned. Ah, rivalry.

They ended their run at the track, where the cross-country team stretched with ostentatious nonchalance and the quidditch kids who had caught up with them collapsed. Adam joined Justin and Jack near the bleachers and rolled his eyes. “Stop being such drama queens!” he bellowed. “I should make you do this every day!” He turned away from them dismissively. “Let’s go get coffee.” He gave Jack a side-eye, apparently sensing the objection he was very carefully not voicing. “Or excessively healthy juice or whatever the fuck you morning people drink. Ugh.”

“You brought this on yourself,” noted Justin, completely unsympathetic.

His husband grunted. Justin and Jack traded grins.

They went to Annie’s, where Adam got the largest coffee they would serve him, Justin got a cappuccino and a bottle of water (plus another one for Adam, and got glared at for it), and Jack was able to get his smoothie. Another point for Annie’s, he noted. He nodded to John (who he was now thinking of as Whiskey, much to his own amusement), who had apparently picked up an early morning barista shift, and left a big tip in the counter jar before they settled in a booth.

“So Shitty said Kent stopped by the other day,” Adam said bluntly.

“Jesus, Adam. Have some tact,” Justin said, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Euh, it’s fine,” Jack said. “Let him drink his coffee.”

“Yeah, pre-caffeine clause. I’m innocent here.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Hardly.” He refocused on Jack with a more serious expression. “But really, are you okay?”

Jack made a dismissive gesture. “I won’t lie, it wasn’t great. I mean, he showed up when I was supposed to be teaching.”

Adam sat up straight. “He did _what_?”

“I got Bittle to take the class.”

Justin and Adam traded an incredulous look. Jack was mildly offended.

“I _can_ be flexible, you know.”

“No, man, we’re just glad you seem cool with Eric now. You didn’t exactly seem thrilled about working with him at first.”

Jack felt his cheeks heat and looked down at his drink. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Kent and I talked and it was awkward but not awful, and I made it clear that he shouldn’t just show up again, so overall I think I’m going to call it a win.”

Justin reached out and gave his forearm a supportive squeeze. Jack sighed. “He said the new season starting made him think of me,” he said softly. He stirred the smoothie with his straw to avoid looking up.

“Did it make you think about him?” Adam asked mildly.

Jack looked up in surprise. “N-not really?” He thought for a second. “Yeah, no, I really didn’t even think about it this year. Huh.” He never would have thought that would be possible. “I guess I’ve just been so focused on this course…”

“Bro. It’s a good sign. Good for you,” Justin said.

Jack sipped his smoothie and let the rest of the conversation wash over him, letting the idea that he might actually be getting over Kent after all settle into his bones.

***

**October 10, 2015, Chow Residence**

Eric rang the doorbell to the Chow household and stepped back to wait for them to answer it. He could hear muffled voices from inside the house, growing louder as they approached the door.

“Hey, Eric,” Caitlyn said as she opened the door. “Come on in.”

Eric took his shoes off at the door and followed her into the living room, where Sam and Chris were on the carpeted floor surrounded by blocks.

Sam rushed to greet Eric with a hug. “HI!”

“Heyya, little guy,” Eric said, hoisting him up. “You’re taller!”

“A whole foot since last week,” Chris joked, standing up to give Eric a hug. “Thanks for doing this again, Eric.”

“Everyone needs a break, sometimes.”

“No kidding,” Caitlyn agreed from where Sam was now trying to climb her leg. “We’ll be back in a few hours, though. Just dinner with some friends and a movie.”

“Take your time. Sam and I are going to bake chocolate chip cookies!”

***

Eric turned the keys to start the car, but couldn’t get himself to start driving. He closed his eyes and tapped his hands on the steering wheel before fishing his phone out of his pocket and dialing.

“Hi, baby,” his mother said, her voice washing over him like pies out of the oven first thing on a Saturday morning, her hands on his head as she read bedtime stories, the sound of his father laughing at something she’d said, blackberry jam and afternoons spent on the couch talking.

“Hey, Mama,” he said, and felt his voice break. “How are you?”

“I’m good, sweetie, but you’re not. Not tonight.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I really was fine until two minutes ago.”

She didn’t say anything, waiting for him to go on.

“I miss you, Mama.”

“I miss you, too, honey. What’s wrong?”

“I just… Mama, what if I never have it? The whole package. A job, someone to come home to. Kids. A Saturday morning breakfast when I’m still barely awake but making pancakes anyway.”

“Oh, Dicky,” his mother sighed. “You’ll have it, baby, you know you will.”

“I thought I would, Mama, but I don’t know right now. I thought leaving all those small-town colleges and coming here to teach was the best thing that could happen to me. That this was the life I wanted. But I come home and it’s empty. There’s just me and a stupid tracklist of the Top 40 and too many books.”

“You love the Top 40,” she said, joking but gentle.

“I thought this was it, and I know, logically, I’m too busy to fall in love right now, but Mama, I wish… I wish I could. I wish I was. I wish there was someone. I want it. I want it so bad.”

“Honey, you’re 30 and don’t look a day over 25. You’re smart and handsome and a good, kind man. There is someone out there for you. These things, and I know I’ve said this about everything, from your fifth birthday cake to your doctorate, but they can’t be rushed, baby. Nothing worth having should be rushed.”

He was quiet, trying not to cry, feeling suddenly lonelier than he had in years.

“And you will find it, you will find him and he will make your stomach flip and your knees weak. Or maybe when you see him, you’ll feel exactly the opposite and you’ll suddenly be so steady. Like you could take over the world.”

“Like you do with Coach.”

“Exactly. And I found your daddy when I needed him the most, he was just standing there, looking like God put him there for me to find. You’ll have that, baby, I know you will.”

“And Mama knows everything,” he said, laughing, though it came out wet.

“Mama doesn’t know everything, honey, she wishes she did. I want to tell you who it will be, and what he’ll look like, too, and where you’ll find him.”

“Oh, Mama,” Eric laughed. “You’re too good.”

His mother laughed, too. “You know, Eric, since the day you were born, you’ve been making us proud. Even when you were a handful and dropped flour all over the floor of the kitchen, you made us so proud. We don’t tell you that enough.”

“You do, Mama. You really do. Even when you don’t say it, I know it.”

“Coach feels the same way, you’re everything to him and more.”

Eric closed his eyes. “You’re both the world to me, too, Mama. I’m the one who doesn’t say it enough.”

“You’ll find someone, darling, and he’ll be everything to you, too. And when you hold your little baby to your cheek the first time, and they smell like baby powder, your world will burst at the seams. And we’ll be there for you, honey, whether your world bursts or falls apart, and we’ll be there to hear it all. We love you.”

“Thank you.”

“You home?”

“No, I’m in the Chows’ driveway. I was babysitting Sam for them.”

His mother made an understanding sound. “Get some rest. Call me in the morning.”

“I will. Sleep well, Mama.”

“You too, baby.”

She hung up and he took a moment to compose himself before starting his car and heading for home.

***

**October 10, 2015, Jack Zimmermann’s House**

_Kent,_

_This is another letter for the pile I will never send you. Years struggling with anxiety and depression and a whole host of other things mean that you learn to find coping skills. You learn to do things, some things that keep you sane. This is the one that I find always works. With letters, I don’t have to stand in front of someone and hope the words come out right, I don’t even have to stand in front of myself. I just write. You’re the person I write to the most, or at least the idea of you. The person I married a hundred or so years ago, wearing a suit with a white flower at the lapel, grinning like an idiot. Not the person I divorced in a fit of rage, trying not to cry and wishing I was blind and deaf and more than just dumb, dumb, dumb. (I don’t claim to be eloquent in these letters.) Maybe this is unhealthy and I should just write to my mother instead, but it’s safe to say my mother didn’t, doesn’t, know me like you do. Or did. I think there are things about me that have changed in the past two years that you will never know._

_Kent, when you came to Samwell, a part of me wanted to shut the classroom door in your face and another part of me wanted to hold you and take all the bad thoughts away. I couldn’t do either. We’re not in love and we don’t hate each other. It’s a weird gray area where I have to remind myself to stay back sometimes. Maybe we were built to fall apart. It’s hard to believe that all those years could amount to a big fat nothing, but that’s just what it is. Nothing, where there used to be everything._

_What did you expect I was going to do, Kenny? Come apart in your hands just because you remembered me before the season started? Why didn’t you remember me when you were in bed with him? I don’t really know what you wanted from this interaction, Kent, and I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you, but I really hope that at least some part of you knew that you were fighting for a lost cause._

_We’re not together. And what’s more, there’s no chance of it. I want to. I want to be able to come home and find you sitting in the rocking chair with Kit in your arms, watching some stupid reality show and laughing so hard you’re crying and be overcome with how much I love you. I want to think of you and sigh happily, but that hasn’t happened in a long while, and you know why._

_We **were** built to fall apart. I remember once, when we had just started dating, you and I were sitting on the roof of my parents house and I put an arm around you and we watched the sun set. It was November, you’re always a bit more wistful in the winter, and you just looked at me as it started getting dark and said, “That was so pretty. Isn’t it sad how the world can’t always be so pretty?” And your mouth was so pretty when you said that, I don’t even remember what I answered then. ~~(Who am I kidding? I remember every single thing about that night.)~~ We were a pretty thing that couldn’t always be a pretty thing, Kent, and just like that sunset, we ended in a sort of dark place. _

_But anyway, all this to say, your eyes still shine so bright under the mid-afternoon sun, and I hope that one day I can look at you and not feel this tempest in my stomach. And I hope that this healing happens a bit faster, because I miss my best friend just as much as I miss my husband and I want to be able to think of him._

_I’ve got marking to do, so I’m gonna end this here._

_Jack._

 

Jack capped his pen and put his head in his hands, not sure whether he was sighing or crying inside. His heart and head hurt a little, and he felt tired, but not sad. He looked around the house. He couldn’t stay there tonight. He’d been in the empty house alone all day, and he just couldn’t take it anymore. He ran upstairs to his bedroom, shoved some clothes in an overnight bag, and grabbed his toiletries. He’d drive to Shitty’s and spend the night on the couch, somewhere safe and home-like.

He got in his car and turned the key, driving to the Stop and Shop to get granola bars and milk, knowing without having to ask that Shitty wouldn’t have either. He grabbed a basket from the front of the store and headed for the cereal aisle.

“Jack! Hello!”

Jack looked up from where he was trying to decide whether he wanted peanut butter granola bars or raspberry-almond, and waved at Eric.

Eric pushed his cart over. “How’s it going?”

“Just picking up some things…” He trailed off for a moment, then made up his mind to continue. “I couldn’t really fall asleep in my house tonight. I’m going to crash at Shitty’s.”

Eric nodded in understanding. “You know you're welcome at my mine, too, any time you need it.”

“Thanks.” Jack smiled. “What about you?” He looked at Eric’s cart, a mess of Kraft dinners and chocolate chip cookie dough. “Are you having an indulgent store-bought food night?”

Eric looked sheepish. “It’s just one of those nights, I guess.”

Jack looked at him, concerned. “Not a good night?”

Eric shrugged and smiled a little. “Not a bad night, either.”

“Hey, do you want to maybe get dinner? Right now?” Jack asked. “I could use some time away from the house, but I don’t really want to eat alone.”

“Um, sure!” Eric replied. He gestured to his cart. “I didn’t really have much planned, as you can see.”

“Annie’s will be open now, right?”

“It’s a college coffee shop, I don’t know if it ever closes.”

They walked back to their cars, arms laden with their respective groceries.

“See you at Annie’s,” Jack called over the roof of his car, and was pleased by the smile and wave Eric threw him in response.

***

Eric parked his car across the street from Annie’s Coffee Shop and got out, locking it behind him. Jack was already waiting at a table with a pre-made salad from the refrigerated case. Eric made his way to the counter to get a sandwich for himself and then slid into the seat across from him. Jack smiled.

“Hey,” said Eric, blushing slightly and not entirely sure why.

“Hi,” Jack said.

Eric glanced around at the cafe for conversational inspiration. “It’s 9 PM on a Saturday night! The number of students here studying is kind of sad, don’t you think?”

Jack shook his head. “I think it’s great.”

“Seriously?”

“Look at all these kids, they’re so lucky. They get to learn all these things.”

Eric looked horrified. “Jack. Are you truly such a monster of a professor you don’t believe these children should be out having fun on the weekend? Who looks back on their time in undergrad and remembers fondly all the time they spent doing homework?”

Jack laughed. “Well, me, for one. But I’m aware that’s not normal.”

“You can’t tell me your college experience was all about studying in the library. You were a student athlete on a well-known team. You partied, admit it!”

Jack held his hands up in defeat. “I confess! There was a certain amount of partying, it’s true. But… college was kind of my own time. I didn’t actually grow up thinking I would go to college at all. I assumed I’d go straight into the NHL, because, you know,” he gestured to himself, “Zimmermann. But my dad adopted the push to get more players to go to college first as his post-retirement cause, so he made sure Kent and I retained our NCAA eligibility, took us on college tours, the whole thing. We even ended up at Michigan instead of Minnesota or North Dakota because he was concerned we get a better balance of school to hockey.”

Jack stabbed at his salad with his fork a few times, chasing a cherry tomato around as he tried to put his thoughts into words. “I’m really glad my dad did that, actually. We, Kent and I, complained about it at first. We thought we’d go play in the Q, be hotshots in Juniors. We were good enough, for sure. Why waste time with college? But by the time we were eligible for the draft, it was clear I was having some issues with anxiety. And…” He paused here and looked up. “I don’t know how much you know about how the NHL draft works?”

Eric shook his head. “NFL rules I know backwards and forwards, but not NHL.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up.

Eric smiled wryly. “My dad’s a football coach.”

“Ah,” Jack said understandingly. “Okay, so the NHL draft is restricted to players between the ages of 18 and 20, and when you get drafted, you can still go to college, it’s just that the team that drafted you retains first rights to sign you when you graduate. Or if you leave early, like Kent. So Kent ended up drafted by the Red Wings and I got drafted by the Falconers, who were a new team at the time, and then we both went to U of M together. And I was honestly relieved, because it kind of gave me a break. I mean, yeah, the university wanted us to win for them, but it wasn’t nearly as high-stakes as the NHL. Plus I was actually expected to have other interests, for what felt like the first time ever. I had to choose a major, and do my homework, and talk about non-hockey things. I kind of… learned how to be me. To be me _and_ play hockey.”

Eric looked at him over the rim of his glass. “I guess this explains the whole PhD while playing professional hockey thing. You’re a nerd at heart.”

“Oh, you know about that? I wasn’t sure.”

“Honey, I may not follow hockey very seriously, but you were news. Plus,” he waved his hand vaguely in the air, “you know, faculty gossip. And the students do talk about you.”

Jack grinned. “It’s been surprisingly useful. I have very few students try to ask me for an extension.”

Eric laughed. “I can see it now! ‘An extension? I’ll have you know I wrote an entire dissertation while playing over 80 professional games a season.’”

“And I won a Stanley Cup in there somewhere, too,” Jack added, and grinned.

“So modest.”

“It’s just the truth. And I thought you didn’t follow hockey.”

“I said I didn’t follow it _seriously_. But I did figure skate for quite some time, so I’m not entirely ignorant.”

“Really?” Jack asked, surprised.

“Really. Southern Junior Regionals champion, right here.”

“Ah, it’s your turn to be modest, I see.”

Eric grinned back. “It’s just the truth,” he parroted.

Jack couldn’t help but laugh. He felt more comfortable than he had in… he couldn’t actually remember how long. “I couldn’t stay at home tonight,” he said suddenly, wanting to tell someone. Not _someone_ \--Eric. “Not after spending all day there alone. Seeing Kent earlier this week was… unexpected, and I was suddenly noticing all over again that he wasn’t there. But you want to hear the weird thing? What it made it worse, or maybe better, depending on how you think about it, was the fact that I’m okay. I’m not hurting. This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Seeing him hurt because I miss my best friend, not my ex-husband. Does that make sense?”

Eric was surprised for a moment. “You’re not in love with him anymore?” he asked, choosing his words carefully. He tried not to think about why this felt significant.

“I think I haven’t been for a long time. I love him, sure. I always will. He’s… he’s Kent. He was everything I’d ever known, you know? We met when we were so young, we were best friends, and then we started actually dating in college, and it was just me and him for so long. We came out together, we got married, he was there when I graduated, he was the place that defined ‘home’ when I came back to from away games, wherever he was. Me and him, against the world, until it wasn’t the world that was against us.”

Eric nodded. “I can understand that.”

Jack put his fork down and picked up his coffee. “Anyway, that’s why I was out tonight. How about you?”

Eric waved his hand dismissively. “I was just… being melancholy. Thinking too much about the future. Things I can’t control.” He smiled. “I’m feeling much better now.”

Jack smiled back. “Me too.”

They continued talking for nearly an hour, and when Jack walked with Eric back to their cars, he turned toward home instead of Shitty’s. There was no need anymore; he knew he would be fine.

***

**October 15, 2015, Samwell University, Classroom 250**

“Okay,” Jack said, picking up a stack of papers, “I’m sure you all noticed I’ve ended class a little early today, but that’s because I want to take these last fifteen minutes for you all to fill out this mid-semester course evaluation. This isn’t an official thing for Samwell, it’s just for me, because this is an experimental kind of course and I really want to know how things seem to be going from your perspective as students. They’re anonymous, so please be honest.”

He passed out the evaluation sheets and then held up an envelope. “If someone could please collect them and bring them to my office after class, I’ll be in my office.” He quickly scanned the classroom. “Whi--John, can you bring these to my office when everyone is done?”

He retreated down the hall to his office, where he found Shitty grading papers for his Gender Studies class while cursing into his mustache and wielding his neon pink grading pen with a vengeance. Jack threw himself into his desk chair and started twisting and retwisting a rubber band over his fingers as he tried to remind himself checking in with the students about how the class was going was a _good_ thing. Shitty sat back and ran his hands through his hair. “Jack, do you think the students are actually getting stupider? I really think they might be.”

“Let me see your roster,” Jack said, holding out his hand. Shitty passed it over. “Oh, you have half the men’s lacrosse team.”

“I have _what_?!” Shitty exclaimed, grabbing his book back and glaring at it. “What the hell?”

“I think I heard their coach made taking a WGSS course a requirement after the incident last year.”

“What did I ever do to that man?”

“Do you not treasure this opportunity to mold young minds, Shitty?”

“Fuck no, those obnoxious little shits are going to drive me into an early grave. Just listen to these answers!”

Jack grinned and tried to look sympathetic as Shitty read him selected answers from his most recent test. By the time Whiskey knocked on their office door to hand over the evaluations, he’d forgotten to feel nervous. “Thanks, John.”

“Sure thing, Professor Zimmermann. Hi, Professor Knight!”

“Mr. Daniels,” Shitty said solemnly, “please tell me you have never played lacrosse.”

“Uh… no? I played jai alai for a little while when we lived in Argentina, but never lacrosse.”

“This is because you are a fine and upstanding young man. Never change.”

Whiskey shot Jack a confused look. Jack just smiled and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he murmured as he held the door open. “See you next class.” Whiskey gratefully made his escape.

Jack turned back to Shitty and waved the envelope. “Text Larissa and Eric, you’re saved. We have the mid-semester evaluations to look through.”

Shitty practically dove across the desk for his phone. “You are my personal fucking French-Canadian savior, man.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jack replied vaguely, occupying himself with dividing the evals into four piles and trying not to look at them before the others arrived.

Fortunately, he didn’t have long to wait. When Larissa and Eric arrived, they dragged the two guest chairs over to the space Shitty had roughly cleared on the side table he used for paper overflow from his desk, much to Jack’s personal horror. He restrained his urge to comment and handed a stack of papers to each of them.

“Okay, so I divided these up so we can each get a rough idea of what the students think. If you find anything you think we all need to hear, just set it aside and we can go over them together at the end--”

“Or we can just bring it up as we find stuff. Jesus, Jack, this isn’t a board meeting,” Shitty said. “Lighten up.”

Jack took a breath and then blew it out. “Yes, fine. Sorry.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Jack,” Eric said reassuringly.

Jack forced himself to relax, or at least release some of the tension from his body. _They’re just students_ , he told himself. _They don’t see it from the teacher’s perspective, so take everything with a grain of salt._ It didn’t help that much. He pulled his stack to him and started reading.

Quite a few of the students appeared to have gone for brevity, which he should have expected:

“Really interesting material!”

“I feel like I’m learning a lot.”

“The reading load is kind of heavy.”

“Having different teachers is cool.”

Jack started to relax. _So far, so good_.

“I really like the class so far. The only thing I think has been a little weak is Prof. Zimmermann’s lecture vs. discussion balance. His lectures are good, but we kind of expect more interactive discussion during the class section, especially since Prof. Knight’s classes are basically all discussion. We get a lot of the basic information about the topic from the readings before class, after all. It would be nice if Prof. Z would work his info into the class a little more naturally.”

_Oh._

And another: “The class is great! So far my favorite days were the ones with Prof. Bittle. I’m really looking forward to his section. He made me really see how the material we’re covering in class is still affecting the real world today. I thought history was just, you know, history, but now I can see a lot of ways it kind of shaped the present. Some things make a lot more sense now.”

“The class Prof. Zimmermann and Prof. Bittle taught together was really good. I really started to think about all these historical people like real, actual people, which is really cool. I think I have some things I want to talk to my grandmother about at Christmas this year.”

Jack was starting to see a pattern. He looked up and found Eric’s ears turning red, his face turned resolutely down toward the papers in front of him. Jack cleared his throat.

“So… is anyone else noticing a pattern of my lectures being the problem area?”

Eric looked up with wide eyes, clearly not quite sure how to respond.

Shitty, of course, had no such problem. “Yeah, brah, I told you to loosen up.”

Jack shot him a sour glance. “Yes, thank you, Shitty, that’s very constructive.”

“I did notice students seemed to have a much more favorable reaction to the class Eric taught with you,” Larissa said mildly.

“Oh, I wasn’t teaching,” Eric protested. “I was just sitting in to observe!”

“But they’re right,” Jack said. Eric blinked at him and lost a little of the tension in his shoulders. Jack wondered if Eric was really worried Jack was going to be so over-sensitive about criticism of his teaching technique as to yell. He hoped not. Maybe it was time for the captain to reassure the rookie a bit. (He could almost hear Kent laughing at him. You could take the boy out of the hockey team…) “The students are right. The day you were there, the discussion was the best it’s ever been. You drew excellent parallels to things they had direct experience with in their own lives, and then back to the course material. As you must have done the day you covered for me as well, based on these evaluations.”

“Oh. Um. I’m glad they seemed to like it?”

Larissa was glaring at Jack pointedly. He glared briefly back before returning his attention to Eric. “Seriously, Eric, I’ve always known leading discussion was my weak spot. Just having you in the class made it easier for me, because I suddenly remembered it was basically supposed to be a conversation… which was the first time I’d thought that all semester. And that was before you even said anything. I know we’re about to switch the modules over soon anyway, but…” He paused to take a breath, then plowed ahead. “I really think I should come observe some of _your_ classes. You make me a better teacher.”

Eric was definitely blushing now, but also sitting up straighter, so Jack was going to call it a win. “Well, of course you can come observe my class any time you want, Jack,” he said, sounding suddenly much more Southern than he normally did.

“Holy shit, dude, did Jack Zimmermann just admit to a personal failing?” Shitty said. Larissa punched him in the arm, not at all gently. “Ow!”

“Stop being a dick.”

Shitty looked vaguely chagrined. “Point.” He rubbed his arm and pressed his lips together firmly, as if to prove he did know how to stop talking on occasion.

“Anyway,” Larissa said, apparently having managed Shitty to her satisfaction, “I think these are all good notes. Overall, the students seem to be enjoying the class, both the material and the format, so I think Eric and I should be able to take over for our modules without too much trouble.” She smiled. “Good work, Jack.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Shitty asked, hand to chest in a wounded gesture.

Larissa rolled her eyes. “That didn’t last long, did it?” Shitty was still pouting, though, so she patted him on the head, and said, “Yes, yes, you also did a good job.”

Eric’s laughter rang through the office like bells. Jack could feel himself grinning.

***

**October 23, 2015, Jack Zimmermann’s House**

“Oh, come on!” Adam yelled at the TV, throwing up his hands in disgust. The Sabres were down 4-2 to the Canadiens as the second period drew to a close. He flopped back into the sofa cushions and crossed his arms, glowering at the skaters leaving the ice.

Justin patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Here,” he said, handing his husband a plate. “Have some pizza.”

“I don’t want pizza, I want some _halfway competent players!_ ” Adam replied, his voice rising gradually until he was shouting again at the end, as if hoping he could project his discontent all the way to Buffalo through the television signal.

Jack’s phone rang, saving him from saying something provoking. He grinned when he saw who was calling, though. “Allo, Papa!” he said brightly, looking directly at Adam.

“Calling to gloat, is he?” Adam said, chucking a pillow at Jack.

“Hold on, Papa, let me put you on speaker.”

“You are a terrible friend, Jack Zimmermann.”

“Ah, Adam, enjoying the game, are you?” said Jack’s dad through the phone now resting on the coffee table.

“No, I most certainly am not. What, have the Habs enlisted Bad Bob Zimmermann to call and personally rub it in the face of Sabres fans now?”

“Nah, I do this for free.”

“We’ve still got one more period! Just you wait and see!”

“That’s the spirit! You keep up that optimism.”

Jack laughed and got another pillow thrown at him.

“I don’t have to sit here and take this, you know,” Adam said. He rose with exaggerated dignity. “I’m going to get another beer. Screw the lot of you. Damn Canadians.”

“And how are you, Justin?” asked Bob. “I assume you’re there if Adam is.”

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m great! I’m a safely neutral party today, since the Leafs aren’t playing.”

“Ah, yes. My condolences on your loss to the Sabres the other night.”

Justin darted a quick look over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “That’s all right, the Habs are kicking their ass for me tonight.”

“I heard that!” Adam shouted from the kitchen. “Just for that, you can get your own damn beer.”

Justin grinned and stood up. “Good to talk to you, Bob. You want something while I’m up, Jack?”

“Sure, thanks,” Jack said, picking his phone back up to take it off speaker. He lowered the volume on the TV, not particularly caring about the intermission report.

“So what’s up, Papa?”

“Euh, your mother wanted to know if you wanted us to come down there to spend American Thanksgiving with you.”

“Oh! Um, yeah, that would be great. I don’t know that I’ll be that entertaining, since I’ll probably have a lot of grading to do that weekend, but I would love to see you. I wasn’t really sure how I’d be able to get up to Montréal.”

“Wonderful! I’ll tell your mother. I’m sure she’ll think of things she wants to do in Boston while we’re there anyway, so you won’t have to worry about keeping us occupied.”

Jack laughed. “Of course she will. Tell her hi for me, yeah?”

“Oh, wait, you can tell her yourself, she just walked in. Talk to her for a sec while I get a drink.” Jack heard him hand off the phone.

“Hi, Maman, how are you?”

“I’m well, darling. How’s your week looking? We have a benefit this weekend, so I’m not sure if we’ll get in our usual Sunday call.”

“Oh, it should be good. Shitty and I just handed off the World War Two course to Eric and Larissa, so my teaching load will be a bit lighter now. I’m going to sit in and observe on Thursday.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Eric invited me, since I let him sit in on one of my classes earlier in the semester.”

“And he’s the one whose specialty is food?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Well, that should be interesting. I’ll look forward to hearing your impressions. Oh, your father’s back. I’ll let you two finish up. I love you, baby.”

“Love you, too, Maman.”

“Hi again, Jack. Not much more on my end, just wanted to tell you goodbye properly. Looks like the game will be starting again soon.”

“Yup. Have a good time at the benefit. I’ll talk to you next week, if not before.”

Justin came back in with the beer just then and handed a bottle to Jack. “Bye, Bob!” he called.

“Tell the boys bye from me, Jack. And tell Adam the third period isn’t going to help him. I can tell.”

“I will, Papa. Bye!” He hung up as Adam came back, carrying not only beer but salad, which he set on the coffee table next to the plates.

“Shit, I forgot forks. Hold on.”

“Nah, babe, you sit, I’ll get them,” Justin said, giving Adam a peck on the cheek as he passed him.

“And napkins,” Adam called.

“Got it!” replied Justin.

“So what else did Bob have to say?” asked Adam.

“They’re coming for Thanksgiving, and the Sabres aren’t going to do anything in the third period.”

“Hey!”

Sadly, his prediction proved correct.

***

**October 29, 2015, Samwell University, Eric Bittle’s Office**

Jack knocked on the door to Eric’s office, then stuck his head in. “Eric?” he called.

“Oh, Jack, you’re here! Great! Carry this,” Eric said, placing a large plastic container in Jack’s hands.

“Uh, okay…” Jack said, staring in confusion, first at the uninformative lid of the container, then at Eric. “What are you wearing? Did I need to...dress differently today?”

Eric gave him a look of pretend shock. “Jack Zimmermann, are you telling me you are completely unaware of Halloween?”

“No…”

“You poor, serious man. You’re fine. I just always dress up for the class closest to Halloween. This year, I’m a 1940s farmer, in keeping with today’s discussion topic. I suppose I could have been a Boy Scout leader doing a scrap metal drive, but bringing my wagon up all the stairs seemed like a hassle.”

Jack choked on a laugh. “Do you really have a wagon?”

“Of course. A red Radio Flyer. It’s my sad New England compromise approach to tailgating at a liberal arts school.” He shifted his own container to one hand so he could pat Jack on the arm. “You come to one of the football or softball games with me some weekend, then you’ll see. The wagon is essential for getting all the appropriate provisions out there.”

Jack was starting to think Eric had a very different approach to attending sporting events than he’d grown up with, but before he could inquire further, they arrived at the classroom. Eric started to juggle his load again, only to be saved by Larissa arriving just behind them. “I got it,” she said, holding the door wide for both of them.

“You too?” Jack asked.

“Like I’d pass up an opportunity to dress as Rosie the Riveter,” she scoffed.

“I stand corrected.”

“We’ll get you dressed up next year,” Eric said confidently. Jack chose not to interpret it as a threat. He’d never considered dressing up as a historical figure to go along with his lecture topic before… His thoughts were interrupted by Eric saying, “Just put that down over here, Jack, thanks,” indicating a spot on the table at the front of the room next to his own container.

“Oh, sure. What’s in these, anyway?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Larissa asked.

“I figured he’d see them soon enough,” Eric replied as he removed the lids. “Ta-da! Our art project from last night.”

Inside were arrayed neat stacks of iced sugar cookies in all sorts of Halloween shapes: moons, stars, pumpkins, black cats, witches on broomsticks, fall leaves.

“Wow,” Jack said. “That icing is… really artistic.”

Larissa preened. “Art is art, even if it’s edible.”

“Amazing. I think I only ever managed to smear some plain-colored icing on a cookie with a knife and then add some sprinkles. When I was, like, eight.”

“Such a deprived childhood,” she said, shaking her head sadly.

“She says to the son of an NHL star and a model,” Eric said with a snort. He set out a stack of napkins next to the two containers and stood back to survey everything as the students started arriving.

“Hey, y’all! Go ahead and get yourselves some cookies before we start.”

The students gladly helped themselves, as did Jack and Larissa, who settled into seats off to the side.

“Good to see y’all! I hope you all have good Halloween plans this weekend, yeah?” A positive murmur came from the class. “Great! Now, before you all start thinking today is just a holiday blow-off class, let me tell you a little bit about these cookies. Who’s tried theirs so far?”

Hands went up all over the room.

“Good, right?”

Enthusiastic agreement.

“Well, you’re eating history. These cookies were made from a recipe in a wartime cooking pamphlet, which were widely distributed to give instruction on how to cook with what was available during rationing. Now, rationing wasn’t nearly as bad in the US as it was in the UK, which is why these cookies are still edible even by our current standards, but as you should have learned from your readings, the war affected _everything_ people did, even on the American home front, which was really quite insulated.

“What’s more, these cookies were cut out with authentic cookie cutters from the late 1930s!” He pulled several from his bag and held them up. “Who can tell me why my Moo Maw handed these over to me like they were the crown jewels?”

“Uh, because they’re antiques?” someone in the front row ventured.

“Not to her, they’re not. They’re treasures from her late teens. C’mon, y’all, I’m asking you this in the context of this class and the readings we did.” He tapped the cookie cutters on the table beside him. They rang metallically. “Think about what they’re made of.”

“Oh!” a girl exclaimed. “The scrap metal drives!”

“Exactly!” Eric beamed at the class. “Now, my Moo Maw did tell me she had to wrestle with her conscience when the boys at her high school started their collections, but she just couldn’t bring herself to give these cutters up. She’d saved up a long time to get them, and getting a little bit of pocket money in the middle of the Depression was no mean feat. Even her sister told her she should just be satisfied cutting out cookies with the rim of a glass, but she said she didn’t see how her tiny bit of metal was going to make much of a difference, so she kept them anyway. Though she did hide them in the back of her closet for a few years so her sister wouldn’t donate them behind her back.”

Jack looked at the students, who all seemed enraptured by this personal story that was making history real to them in a very tangible way. He really never would have thought to teach a class this way. It was… impressive, if he was going to be honest.

“I’m sure you all noticed how I’m dressed today, and Professor Duan has joined in the fun, as you can see.” Larissa waved from her seat beside Jack. “So let’s turn to talking about the food supply during the war more generally. As you recall from Professor Duan’s classes last week, in which you looked at quite a few posters encouraging women to go into farming, manpower was definitely an issue…”

The discussion continued, and Jack watched, fascinated, as Eric effortlessly wove his own talking points and illustrative examples into what felt like a natural discussion with and amongst the students. It appeared interdisciplinary collaboration could benefit more than just the students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: What was Kent thinking?!  
> A: He kind of wasn't? In case you didn't pick up on it, this version of Parse has some pretty severe ADHD that's gone largely untreated because the hyperactivity always got masked by the hockey, so his ability to consider long-term consequences has always been kind of... lacking. Sure, he looks back at it now and sees what a completely shit idea it was, but at the time he actually didn't think it was that wrong. Because he was feeling really off-balance in the first year that he and Jack weren't both in the NHL. They weren't really living the same life anymore, the way they had been since they were ~15. And Jack seemed so happy, but also so _busy_ , and Kent didn't want to feel like he was bothering Jack when he was just settling into the whole professor routine, and Ori, his roadie roommate, was _right there_ , and it didn't mean anything. In a weird way, in that particularly moment, he thought he was being almost helpful. Jack did not see it that way. Kent doesn't see it that way anymore either. They are not getting back together.
> 
> Q: What was their story before Jack retired from the NHL?  
> A: I'm so glad you asked! I (rhys) worked out a whole timeline! As mentioned, Bad Bob makes sure they keep their NCAA eligibility so they can go to college. They end up at the University of Michigan, which Jack liked because it was a good hockey school, but not _the best_ , which took some pressure off of him, plus they have a good history department. They were both drafted prior to enrolling, Jack to the Falconers because they were a new expansion team and Kent to the Red Wings, mostly for narrative convenience, but we'll just assume they got a better spot in draft picks that year through trades. Jack stays at UM all four years, but Kent withdraws after two in favor of his NHL career, because knowing the Wings were waiting for him eventually got to be too much of a distraction when he wasn't that invested in school to begin with. They had been dating at this point for about two years, and Detroit is close enough to Ann Arbor that they were able to stay close. When Jack graduated, he went to Providence, Kent finagled to get traded to the Bruins when his contract was up, they came out, got married, lived in a nice apartment fairly equidistant between their two home arenas, and were the NHL's gay poster children. Jack got his PhD by studying on roadies because he got bored without anything academic to do. (See my headcanon on [PhDs in the NHL](http://rhysiana.tumblr.com/post/144610839298/phds-in-the-nhl).) And then, well. *gestures back up at the body of the chapter*


	3. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out Thanksgiving can still be a family affair, even if you can't make it home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I kind of made Shitty's dad's family extra shitty? Like, the reason he refers to them as his "shitty grandparents" is because they turn out to be horrifyingly racist, at least when it comes to people who might possibly marry into the family.* So anyway, that's going to come up in this chapter. None of the interactions with them ever happen "on screen" or are ever repeated verbatim, Shitty just gives abbreviated accounts, but still. Hopefully the found-family theme makes up for it. -rhys

**November 7, 2015, Jack Zimmermann’s House**

Jack looked up, startled, as Shitty slammed through his front door so hard it rebounded off the foyer wall.

“Shits?”

Shitty threw himself down on the couch and set a bottle of Maker’s Mark firmly on the coffee table. “Glasses,” he said curtly.

Jack rose cautiously and obediently retrieved two glasses, checking them discreetly for dust. He hadn’t used them much since Kent moved out. He handed one to Shitty, not really sure how to start the conversation. Shitty had never needed prompting to talk in Jack’s previous experience.

Shitty poured himself a generous measure, and then did the same for Jack. “Don’t let me drink this alone. I just can’t face talking about this without alcohol.”

“Uh, okay.” Jack decided to stick mostly with silence until he had more context.

Shitty knocked back a healthy swallow and sat back into the couch cushions like he was trying to teach them a lesson. He glared into the air in front of him and scowled. “My fucking father,” he finally said.

Jack sipped and attempted to look sympathetically inquiring.

“So Thanksgiving is coming up, right? Which means I got the annual ‘Are you coming to Gloria’s for the Knight family dinner?’ call. And I said yes, because the unstated agreement is if I show up at this annual shit show, I can go back to avoiding that whole side of the family until the next year. Gotta show up for the grandparents, after all, since they still control the family fortune.”

He grimaced and took another drink. “And I thought I was home-free and was about to hang up, and then my dad goes, ‘And this year we should really see about you bringing an appropriate date. Your grandmother thinks it’s time you got married.’ Stupid me, I’m actually surprised. I actually said, ‘I thought Mom had already told you I was seeing someone.’ Because they may hate each other, but she generally keeps him informed of the basics of my life.”

Jack didn’t like where this was going. He could see why Shitty had brought a bottle.

“And my dad _laughs_. He actually laughs. ‘Oh, you mean that Vietnamese girl? I knew you couldn’t be serious about her. I was thinking I’d set you up with Norris’s daughter, so we could at least show your grandmother you’re trying. We can worry about setting you up on some serious dates after the holidays, since it’s too short notice to do anything about it now.’”

Jack quickly took Shitty’s now-empty glass out of his hand before he could throw it across the room. He refilled it and handed it back.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“No, you’re not. He’s not worth it.”

Shitty drank again and pointed at Jack. “No, he most certainly fucking isn’t!” He sat forward to put his glass back on the table, then leaned his elbows on his knees and buried his hands in hair, groaning. “I just hate this. I hate them all. They’re awful people, and I don’t know why I always let myself get talked into going to family events. None of them care about me, I’m just expected to make an appearance. Every year, I swear I’m not going to go, and every year they manage to wear me down. I just get so tired of fighting.”

“What’s your dad’s problem with Larissa?”

Shitty snorted. “He’s never even met her. _His_ problem is she’s not the daughter of some business crony he could use it as leverage over. I swear, his approach to life is still basically feudal.” He looked up, the expression on his face utterly heartbreaking in its bleak despair. “The real problem is that my grandparents are completely and unapologetically racist. It is my dad’s current worst nightmare that I’ll marry ‘that Vietnamese girl’ and he’ll be written out of the will due to having a son who would so sully the family line.”

Jack just stared at him, shocked.

Shitty laughed bitterly. “I’m not even kidding. My cousin married a completely unobjectionable shark of a businesswoman who happened to be from Hong Kong five years ago, and our grandparents haven’t spoken to him since. They’ve got great-grandchildren now that they’ve never even seen and won’t acknowledge. The only reason they still talk to my uncle is because he has other children and they still seem promising.”

“I… I didn’t think that was a real thing people still did,” Jack said.

“Yeah, well. The Knights are _exceptional_.”

“What did your mom say?”

“I haven’t told her yet. It’s kind of hard to talk to her about this, because it just makes her feel guilty about marrying into the Knight family in the first place.”

“Well, she did at least leave.”

“Yeah, but she still ends up apologizing to me about saddling me with all that baggage, and she always tried really hard after the divorce to not prejudice me against my dad. Not that he needs any help in that department.”

Jack put his hand on Shitty’s shoulder, completely at a loss for what else he could do. Shitty leaned into him.

They sat like that for several minutes before Jack offered, “Um, my parents are coming down for Thanksgiving this year. You could come here instead. If you want.”

Shitty sighed. “I do want, man. I really want. And I may take you up on that. I just have to see if I can really get out of the family obligation stuff, or if I’m going to have to make it into a whole big thing.”

Jack shrugged and reached for his glass again. “Well, the offer stands. You’ve been here for me all this time. I hope you know I’m here for you, too.”

“Yeah, I know, and I love you for it, brah. God,” Shitty groaned, “I’m so fucking tired.” He finished off his glass and then flopped back on the couch with an arm over his eyes.

Jack reached back to tug the afghan off the back of the couch and spread it over Shitty. He patted Shitty’s shin and then turned on the TV, SportsCenter providing quiet background noise as he returned to grading and Shitty slipped into the sleep of the emotionally exhausted.

After a few papers, Jack picked up his phone and texted Larissa.

 **JZ:** Shitty’s here. Very upset.

 **LD:**???

 **JZ:** Family stuff.

 **LD:** Oh shit. Omw

She came straight in when she arrived twenty minutes later, closing the door quietly behind her and catching Jack’s gaze. He just pointed at Shitty sleeping beside him and she nodded. She knelt in front of the couch, reaching out to brush Shitty’s hair out of his face. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked at her. “Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “Jack texted me.”

“Oh.” He caught the hand she had been using to brush his hair back and held it.

Jack repressed a smile and busied himself gathering his papers. “I’ll just, uh, go enter these grades in my office,” he said. He wasn’t sure they actually noticed him leave.

“Wanna talk about it?” he heard as he left.

“Maybe later,” came the reply. “’m glad you’re here.”

***

**November 10, 2015, Samwell University**

Jack’s phone buzzed where it sat on his desk. He looked over from his papers and saw it was a text from Eric.

 **EB:** Do you know what’s up with Larissa?

 **EB:** I know she’s usually quiet, but this is subdued even for her.

 **JZ:** Probably to do with Shitty.

 **EB:** Oh?

 **JZ:** He had a run-in with his father over the weekend.

 **JZ:** She came to pull him out of it.

 **EB:** Oh dear. I’ll try to talk to her.

 **JZ:** Good luck.

***

Eric put his phone back in his pocket and walked down the hall to Larissa’s office. “Knock knock,” he called, sticking his head in the door. Larissa was sitting in her desk chair with her knees pulled up under her chin, doodling idly in the sketchpad on her desk. She did not look happy.

“Hey,” Eric tried again. “Let’s go get coffee.”

She sighed, but uncurled from her chair and stood up. “Fine.”

“I said coffee, not hemlock.”

She shot him a look. “Just how much time have you been spending with Jack lately?”

“That’s my joke, not his,” he said, pretending offense. “Ingestible poisons are totally within my subject area.”

“Now there’s a course idea.”

Eric smiled, feeling triumphant that he’d at least gotten her talking. He chattered away all the way to Annie’s about ideas for his hypothetical poisoned foods course. They went through the line for pumpkin spice lattes and claimed the two comfy chairs in the corner nook.

“So what’s going on with you today?” Eric asked.

Larissa toed off her shoes and pulled her feet up onto the chair, tugging the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands as she wrapped her arms around her knees. “Shitty talked to his dad this weekend.”

“Yeah?”

“About me,” she mumbled into her knees.

“Does he even know you?”

“No. It doesn’t matter. The point is that I’m not good enough.”

“Good enough for what? If anything, you are too good for Shitty.”

Larissa gave him a brief sideways smile, but it faded immediately. “Not good enough for the Knights. Because I’m not white.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

She rubbed her knuckles over her eyes and shook her head. “No, I mean, Shitty doesn’t agree with them or anything. He’s ready to tell them all to go fuck themselves, consequences be damned, but… it still hurts. And we never really talk about what we have between us, and this is a sucky way to start.”

Eric frowned fiercely. “How did Shitty even come from a family like that?”

“Apparently it’s really just his grandparents? But there’s a reason his parents are divorced. And he only really ever talks to his mom.” She took a deep breath and then sat up a little more, curling her feet underneath her and reaching for her coffee. “It’s stupid to be this upset. I know he’s just as mad as I am, if not more. I’ve never even met them. It’s just making me think about… I dunno, things I want that I didn’t even know I wanted.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s legitimately upsetting!” Eric insisted. “But what kinds of things do you want?”

“I want…” She paused and shrugged. “I want him. In my life. And we haven’t been talking about it because things have been pretty much perfect. Or I thought they were. I don’t want things to have to change.”

“But not all change is bad. Maybe this will lead you two to something even better.”

“Maybe.” She sipped her coffee and stared out the window, clearly still worried, but Eric thought she look less troubled. He turned the conversation to their next class, asking which posters she’d chosen as examples and wishing there was something more he could do for his friends.

***

**November 15, 2015, Eric Bittle’s Apartment**

Eric looked with dismay at the enormous pile of first drafts he had collected from his students. Sure, it was just a short five-page paper, and yes, he did vehemently believe in the importance of giving good draft feedback to undergrads so they could learn how to improve their research and writing ability, but honestly, what had he been thinking, scheduling this assignment so close to Thanksgiving? He’d be getting all of their second drafts back right before the break. He’d have to spend the entire holiday grading. He couldn’t… oh dear god, he couldn’t go home. For _Thanksgiving_. His mother was going to kill him.

He forced himself to reach for the phone and dial anyway. Might as well get it over with now.

“Hello?”

“Mama? Hi.”

“Dicky, what’s wrong? Why do you sound like someone died?”

He huffed a short laugh. “Because I’m afraid it’s gonna be me? I have some bad news. I don’t think I can come home for Thanksgiving this year.”

“Oh, honey, that’s all right! We’ll miss you, of course, and this means your aunt Judy is going to insist she can bring a pie, which will be… unfortunate, but I know what trying to fly at Thanksgiving is like, and I was honestly wondering how you were going to manage.”

Eric felt like he might actually cry. “Oh my god, Mama, you’re the best. I was working myself up into such a state.”

“I know how you get. You just have to promise me you’ll find some other people who are staying in town to have Thanksgiving dinner with. You won’t feel right unless you bake for _somebody_.”

He grinned. “It’s true. I’m sure there will be some other professors around. I can’t be the only one who had the poor planning to load myself down with work over the holiday.”

“Well, now you know to plan a little differently next year!”

He laughed for real this time. “Yes, Mama, I’ll try.”

“So tell me about all this work you’ll be doing…”

***

**November 19, 2015, Samwell University**

Jack rapped his knuckles on the frame of Eric’s office door.

“Hmmm? Just a second,” Eric called. A few seconds later, Jack heard the sound of chair casters on the floor, followed by Eric rolling into view of the doorway. “Jack! Hello! Come on in.”

Jack leaned comfortably on the doorframe. “I just heard from Larissa that you’re staying here for Thanksgiving.”

Eric’s face fell slightly. “Oh, yeah, I am. Too many papers I have to give feedback on.”

Jack nodded sympathetically, having learned that no one else shared his views on the joy of having a long weekend to grade in peace. “Do you want to come to my house? My parents are coming down from Montréal so my mom can pretend to be properly American again.”

Eric laughed. “Didn’t she just get another Thanksgiving last month?”

“She insists it’s not the same.”

“I would love to come. I promised my own mother that I’d find some people to have dinner with up here, so she’ll be very relieved.”

“Great! I don’t know what the plan for the day will be yet, I’m assuming my parents will have some ideas about that, so I’ll text you after they get here and I know more?”

“Sounds good. Thank you, Jack! I’m looking forward to it.”

***

**November 21, 2015, Nurse/Poindexter Residence**

Will snapped his laptop closed and glared at the other end of the couch, where there was _so much singing_. “If I had known agreeing to watch _Moulin Rouge_ for movie night was going to result in this, I would most definitely have voted for something else.”

Derek gave him a look of great offense. “William J. Poindexter, I love you more than life itself, but your lack of appreciation for modern classical cinema is appalling.”

Eric collapsed into giggles at his end of the couch. “Y’all are too much,” he said when he could breathe again, wiping at his eyes.

Once the credits had finished scrolling (“out of respect for the creative work of all these people, Will.” “They’ll never know you didn’t watch the DVD all the way to the end, honestly.” “Plus the end credit song is the bomb.” “Enough singing!”), Derek found the remote and turned the TV off. He turned sideways on the couch, leaned back against his husband, and shifted his attention to Eric. The smile he gave him was… disconcerting. Will, behind Derek’s back, rolled his eyes, but did not seem inclined to save Eric from whatever was coming.

“So…”

“What? Why are you staring at me like that? Whatever it is, I swear I don’t know!” Eric’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What has Chris told you? It must be his fault. I’ve been far too busy to do anything gossip-worthy.”

“I hear you’ve been invited to Jack’s for Thanksgiving.”

“Well, yes. He heard I was staying in town. It was very nice of him.”

“Nice. Yes. That’s one word for it.”

Eric just looked confused.

Will sighed. “Derek, do you always have to be up in everybody’s business?”

Derek leaned back further so he could look at Will upside down and grinned. “I mean, I don’t _have_ to, but when the unresolved sexual tension is _right there_ , it takes a far stronger man than I am to resist attempting to nudge it along.”

Will shifted his knee to remove Derek’s support and he collapsed into Will’s lap, completely unrepentant. “Jerk,” Derek said fondly as he shifted around until he’d made himself comfortable against Will’s chest, and though Will maintained an annoyed expression, he settled his arm oh-so-naturally around Derek’s shoulders.

Eric sighed wistfully without realizing it.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “And exactly why are you not at Jack’s house tonight getting your own snuggles on?”

“I beg your pardon? And what is this about unresolved sexual tension?”

“You are not usually such an oblivious person, Eric, my man. My buddy. My pal. Jack Zimmermann, our very own ex-NHL god turned overly dedicated history hermit, has the hots for you.”

“I… what?” Eric said blankly. He looked to Will, hoping for a voice of reason.

Will shrugged. “He’s not wrong. I dunno that I would have said ‘the hots,’ but Jack clearly likes you.”

“He could barely stand me!”

“Yeah, at the beginning of the semester. But that was just because he saw you as a threat to his excessively detailed course planning. You got him to change his routine. You got him to change his _teaching style_. He’s paying way more attention to you than he does to anyone else. And he seems happy about it. We’ve worked with him for two years. Believe us when we tell you he’s different around you.”

Derek nodded in emphatic agreement and looked smug.

“Well. Um. That’s certainly something to think about,” Eric said. Definitely time for a change in subject. “So what are y’all doing for the holiday?”

Mercifully, they let it go. “Driving up to Maine to spend it with the Poindexters,” Derek answered. “Trying to go down to New York for a short holiday is just hell. Besides, Will’s fam has better food.”

Will smiled and twisted one of Derek’s curls around his finger absently. “What do you want to be in charge of this year, babe, the cranberry sauce or the mashed potatoes?”

Eric was happy to turn the discussion to food, a subject he could easily talk about with only half his attention as the back of his mind busily reexamined every interaction he’d had with Jack. Judging by Derek’s continued smug expression, he knew.

***

**November 26, 2015, Jack Zimmermann’s House**

“Hello! We’re here!” Alicia called as she opened the front door.

“Maman! I could have come to get you,” Jack said, hastily drying his hands on a dishtowel as he hurried into the entryway of his house.

“No, no, darling, we wanted a car.” She drew him down slightly to kiss him on the cheek. “Besides, the airport was a madhouse. It was probably actually easier for us to drive ourselves than for you to fight through all those idiots to pick us up. Honestly, we should have found a way to come down earlier.”

“Well, at least let me take your bags upstairs.”

Alicia relinquished her suitcase as Bob came in behind her. “I’ll just check on supplies in the kitchen then,” she said.

“I swear I bought everything on your list, Maman,” Jack called after her.

“You know she’s going to check anyway,” Bob said with a fond but rueful smile. “C’mon, let’s get this stuff upstairs.”

“Oh, Papa, I can take…” Jack gave up and followed his father up the stairs to the guest room.

Once the luggage was deposited, Bob clapped Jack on the shoulder and pulled him in for a rough hug. “Good to see you, son.” He pulled back and studied Jack’s face for a moment. “You look good. Happy.”

Jack blinked, a little surprised. “Well, um, yeah. I am, I guess.” They headed back down to the kitchen. “I mean, the course has been going well, and we turned the main teaching duties over to Larissa and Eric about a month ago, so I’m getting to just relax now.”

Alicia exchanged a knowing look with Bob over the counter.

“What?” Jack asked, suspicious.

Bob’s look to Alicia this time clearly said “you take this one.” She picked it up seamlessly. “You must feel pretty confident in both of them to be this relaxed now, is all. You’re usually champing at the bit to be in charge of everything. And last we heard, this Eric had such a different teaching style…”

“Maman, that’s not true,” Jack chided. “I told you about getting to observe his class. He’s very good. He doesn’t do it my way, but his way definitely works well with the students. They clearly learned a lot… and I did too.”

Alicia’s only response was to hum “mm-hmm” around a piece of celery as she arranged vegetables on a platter.

Bob took up his cue. “And we get to meet this Eric?”

“Ye-es,” Jack said cautiously, looking between the two of them. “I mean, I invited him today, since he wasn’t able to go home for the holiday. What do you mean, ‘this Eric’?”

“You just seem very fond of him now, dear,” Alicia said, suspiciously mild.

“Well, we’re friends. We’ve been working together a lot…”

“Good, good,” said Bob. “Always good to make new friends. Anyone else coming this year?” he asked as he carried the vegetable tray into the living room.

“Probably not? Adam and Justin went to Buffalo so they can do Christmas in Toronto, Derek and Will went to Maine, Larissa’s with her family in Boston, and Shitty had to go to the Knight family dinner. Oh, Chowder and Caitlin and Sam are in town, but they were going to do a joint kid-friendly thing with some of Sam’s friends’ families. They said we should try to get together later in the weekend.”

“That would be nice. I’m sure Sam has grown so much since we last saw him,” Alicia said. “Bob, leave the TV alone and come help me figure out how to cook this turkey.”

As his parents argued amicably over which turkey recipe to use this year, Jack dug his phone out of his pocket and texted Eric somewhat desperately.

 **JZ:** Hey

 **EB:** Hi! Did your parents get here?

 **JZ:** Yeah, they rented a car and showed up a little while ago. Want to come over?

 **EB:** Sure! I wouldn’t want to intrude on your family time though…

 **JZ:** No, they’re being weird at me, I need you to save me.

 **EB:** hahahahaha

 **JZ:** That’s not very sympathetic.

His phone rang in his hand, Eric now actually calling. “Texting wasn’t cutting it?”

“No,” Eric replied. “I need to ask you about food, and texting absolutely will not suffice for this conversation. I’m going to ask you a very important question. Are you ready?”

Jack attempted to compose himself. “Ready,” he said with as much seriousness as he could manage while trying not to grin.

“What kind of pie are you making?”

“Maman, what kind of pie did I get?” Jack called into the kitchen.

“Pumpkin,” she called back.

He relayed the message.

“What do you mean, you ‘got’ a pumpkin pie?” Eric said, sounding utterly scandalized.

“Uh, I got it when I went to the grocery store yesterday?”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, do not _blaspheme_! A store-bought pie. Please. No. Absolutely not. I will be there in fifteen minutes, and we will _fix this_. Unless… do you have two ovens?”

Jack was starting to feel like he’d been run over by a runaway train. “Yes?”

“Oh, thank goodness. Obviously the turkey will be cooking in one. I mean, I could always just make the pies here and bring them over, but then I wouldn’t be able to help with anything else, and that would just be so rude.” Jack could hear him moving around on the other end of the line, with occasional noises like he was pulling things off shelves. “Besides, one of the best parts of Thanksgiving is talking in the kitchen while all the cooking is going on, don’t you think? Oh, thank goodness I have this canned pumpkin already, it was like I just knew there would be an emergency.”

“Eric, what are you doing?”

“Getting together everything needed for the pies, of course. I think that’s it. Like I said, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t you worry, everything will be fine.” He hung up.

Jack stared at his phone. “I thought everything _was_ fine,” he muttered.

“Who was that?” Alicia asked as he came into the kitchen.

“Eric,” Jack answered, still somewhat stunned. “He’s bringing everything we need for pie, apparently.”

Alicia smirked as she bit into a carrot.

***

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Jack answered it to find Eric on his front steps hefting an enormous plastic bin. He stepped back hurriedly. “Come in. Can I take that?”

“Nope, I got it! Kitchen?”

Jack just pointed, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

“Hello!” he heard his mother say. “You must be Eric.”

Jack arrived in the kitchen to see Eric heave his bin onto the counter and hold out a hand. “I am! And you must be Mrs. Zimmermann?”

She clasped his hand warmly and beamed at him. “Please just call me Alicia.” She turned and gestured. “And this is Bob.”

“A pleasure to meet you both. Now can I get you to tell me what all is on the menu?” Eric and Alicia were soon lost in meal planning as Jack looked on, bemused. Bob came to lean against the doorway next to him.

“I can’t tell if he doesn’t know you’re famous, or if he just doesn’t care,” Jack said.

“I know,” said Bob. “Isn’t it great?”

“Okay, so it looks like we could do with some rolls and two pies,” Eric was saying. “Jack!”

Jack found himself standing up straighter without conscious thought. “Yes?”

“Bob and Alicia seem to have all the regular food under control, so you get to be my baking assistant. Come over here.”

Jack heard his mother giggle. _Giggle_. He knew he did. He decided to ignore her and went to stand next to Eric. “I’ve never really baked anything before.”

Eric just patted his arm, either in support or condescension, Jack wasn’t entirely sure which, and started pulling things out of his bin.

“Good grief, Eric, did you bring your whole kitchen?”

Eric snorted. “Please. I brought only the essentials necessary for pies and some sort of bread, because if I was going to be dealing with people who would just buy a sad grocery store pie the day before Thanksgiving… well.”

Jack was pretty sure the arm pat had been condescending now.

Soon their end of the counter was covered with two kinds of flour, a stack of mixing bowls, a rolling pin, a sifter, measuring cups and spoons (“I’m pretty sure I have those at least.” “Always be prepared, Mr. Zimmermann. Baking is a science.”), a bag of apples, several cans of pumpkin puree, an array of spice jars, and butter.

“You brought your own butter? Honestly, I have butter.”

“You don’t have _enough_ butter.”

“You haven’t even looked!”

“Honey, I just know.” He looked Jack dead in the eye. “You are about to learn just how much butter goes into proper pie crust, and you _are_ going to be horrified, but I want you to make a resolution right now that you will keep those thoughts to yourself until after you’ve eaten dessert. Deal?”

“Uh, deal.”

“Good. Now, peel these apples for me.”

Jack eyed the bag of apples. This looked like it might take a while. “Do we really need two pies?”

“Yes.” There was no room for argument in Eric’s tone.

Jack sighed and opened the bag of apples. He was reaching for the paring knife when Eric handed him what appeared to be a medieval torture device. He stared at it.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. It’s an apple peeler. Lord. Look, it clamps onto the counter like this, you put the apple here, turn the crank, and it peels, cores, and even slices it for you. Ain’t nobody got time to peel that many apples by hand on Thanksgiving.” He set a bowl next to the little machine. “Cut the slices in half when you’re done and put them in here.”

“Cool,” Jack breathed. He caught Eric’s smile out of the corner of his eye and blushed.

***

Eric was in trouble. He could have baked the pies at home and brought them over when he was done, but noooo, he had to be all educational and bring everything over to instruct Jack in the proper art of baking. And now he had no one to blame for this but himself. “This” being Jack Zimmermann in an apron with flour smudged across one cheek after gleefully operating the sifter too fast like he was five.

It was doing _things_ to Eric. He was starting to detect a slight weakness in the vicinity of his knees. He needed a distraction. He started opening cabinets randomly. Bowls, plates, glasses, cereal…

“Is this the Canada cabinet?”

Jack looked over and laughed. “Yeah, I always end up putting all my care package stuff in there.”

“Hmmm.” Eric tapped a finger thoughtfully on his lips, then pulled out the bottle of syrup. Rummaging behind it, he found a bag of maple sugar as well. He could work with this.

“What are you going to do with that?”

“You’ll see. It’ll be good, I promise.”

“Well, I wasn’t doubting _that_.” Eric smiled at the compliment, and then Jack continued with, “That’s very high-quality syrup. Can’t really go wrong.”

Eric gasped in faux outrage and shoved (ineffectually) at Jack’s shoulder. “Just for that, I’m not giving you the recipe. You’ll have to come crawling to me any time you want more of what is sure to be a truly spectacular pie.”

Jack just looked pleased with himself.

He’d see. Oh, he’d see. The power of Eric’s pie was not to be doubted.

“Well, since I’m not letting you watch me finish putting together the apple pie, come here and learn how to make proper pumpkin filling…”

Jack listened attentively. Eric tried to concentrate on the baking and not read anything into it. Stupid Derek and Will, putting these thoughts in his head. As if Jack would be flirting with him. Honestly.

Jack reached around Eric to get the cinnamon, and there really was no reason for his arm to linger that long.

Maybe?

***

Everyone was sitting back in their chairs, looking at the table in satisfaction.

“That is one of the best Thanksgiving dinners I’ve ever had,” said Bob.

“I agree,” Alicia said. “Good thing you came, Eric, I think the rolls are what put it over the top.”

Eric’s cheeks pinkened and he looked away. He busied himself with arranging his empty plate and rose to take it to the kitchen. “Should we have dessert now, or do y’all want to wait a little while?”

As Jack listened to his parents vote in favor of waiting “so we can better appreciate these apparently award-winning pies,” his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and saw a text from Shitty.

 **SK:** Brah, you at home?

 **JZ:** Yeah, we just finished dinner.

 **SK:** Oh. Can I come over?

 **JZ:** Of course! You’ll be in time for dessert.

There was no response after that, which Jack took to mean Shitty was on his way. He looked up a Eric reached across to take his plate. “Shitty’s on his way over.”

“Oh! I thought he had a family thing today,” Eric said, looking back at the table. “Want me to leave all the food out? There’s certainly still enough for him to make himself a plate.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to be in a very good mood.” Jack turned his phone so Eric could see.

Eric frowned. “I didn’t know Shitty could be that flat in texts.”

“Exactly.”

Eric and Alicia finished clearing the dirty dishes from the table, while Bob brought in another place setting, as well as a stack of dessert plates for later. A few minutes later, Jack heard his front door open. He stuck his head around the doorframe and immediately came out into the hall. He threw his arm around Shitty’s shoulders and drew him into a rough sideways hug as he guided him into the dining room.

Eric took one look at Shitty and grabbed his hand. “Oh, honey,” he said, voice full of sympathy as he led him to the chair in front of the empty plate. “What happened?” He settled and motioned for Jack to sit in the chair on Shitty’s other side. Bob and Alicia had retreated to the living room to give them some privacy.

Shitty picked up the fork and started playing with it, pressing the tines into the pads of his fingers. “I, uh, I finally snapped. I’m probably going to get disowned. Like, actually, officially, legally disowned.” He tossed the fork down. “Not that I care! Because fuck them, honestly. But… yeah.”

Eric reached for the plate in front of Shitty and started filling it automatically, clearly operating on the theory that food could fix anything. Watching Shitty dig in, Jack wasn’t sure he could actually dispute it. Gradually, Shitty’s natural loquaciousness came back to him and the whole story spilled out.

“So I got there, right? And--this turkey is really good, yo--they’re all already a few cocktails in, which, let me tell you, is never a good sign, and my dad comes over and starts this obnoxiously loud conversation in my grandmother’s hearing about how it’s about time I settle down, and he’s going on and on and--are these rolls actually made of magic, Bits?--I finally just lost it and said, ‘Good thing I’ve been seriously dating the woman I’m involved with right now for several years then, huh?’ And he gets this totally panicked look on his face, which was honestly the best moment of the night, and then my grandmother pounces and starts grilling me and my poor innocent teenaged cousin asks if she can see Lars’ picture, so I whip it out on my phone, and my grandmother’s face puckered so much I thought it was going to form a black hole.” He paused to drench his mashed potatoes in a truly excessive amount of gravy, shoveled some in with a moan, and swallowed before he continued. “She got about one sentence in on her ‘not good enough to carry on the Knight family name’ speech and I… might have told her to shove it up her racist, xenophobic, hypocritical ass. At which point she gaped at me like a fish for a second and told me to get out. Which I did. Gladly. God, I hate them all.” He set his elbows on the table and buried his hands in his hair.

“Sometimes you just have to know when to distance yourself from people like that for your own sanity, even if you are related to them,” Eric said, the hard edge to his voice under the sympathy making it clear he knew what he was talking about. He put his hand on Shitty’s shoulder as he picked up the now-empty plate and squeezed. “It’s okay to make your own family.”

Shitty blinked rapidly, fighting back tears.

“Why don’t you boys come into the living room and we’ll find some football? Make this a real American holiday.”

“Did I hear someone say football?” Eric said, entering the room with a pie in either hand, which he set on the coffee table. “Y’all just make yourselves comfortable while I grab those plates, because you are about to get _educated_.”

Jack bit back a smile and leaned forward to cut the pies. He nudged Shitty’s knee. “Want to call Larissa? Invite her for pie, if she’s ready to leave her parents’ place.”

“Yeah, man, yeah. Good idea.” Shitty gave a shaky smile and pulled out his phone to start texting as Eric returned.

“Dig in, y’all. What game did you find, Bob?”

“Eric, what on earth did you do to this apple pie?” exclaimed Alicia, who had snagged the first piece.

Jack found it impossible not to smile in response to the proud expression blooming across Eric’s face.

“Something I decided to try today, for our Canadian-American Thanksgiving. Maple-crusted apple pie. You like it?”

“It’s amazing!”

Jack sat back and basked in the warmth and comfort of having all his favorite people in the same room. Soon Larissa arrived, too, and proceeded to eat her own pie while seated across Shitty’s lap in the oversized armchair. She stayed there for the rest of the evening, too, idly playing with Shitty’s hair until he was enough himself to start laughing at the football gossip and snide commentary Eric was providing along with the TV. It was Jack’s favorite holiday in recent memory.

***

**November 28, 2015, Jack Zimmermann’s House**

_Dear Kent,_

_You had a good game against the Rangers last night. I know because I watched it here, at the house, with my parents. And it was… fine. I actually enjoyed it. I cheered for you and it felt like cheering on a friend. It didn’t feel like something was stabbing me in the chest anymore. Which is good, because you’re still damn good at hockey and a joy to watch. It would be a real shame if I were never able to watch you again._

_I’m supposed to be grading right now, but I actually just sent my parents off to visit you in Boston, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate until I wrote this out. Maman seemed so unsure about whether she should even bring up what they were planning to do in Boston. I was actually the one to bring it up, just told them they should go see you, since I knew you were going to be in town for the next few days. Kenny, she looked so relieved. So did Papa. They’ve been walking on eggshells around me for the past year and a half, and I think we’re finally all seeing a way past it. I know they still love you. You became a second son to them. The divorce wasn’t just hard on me, although it’s been tempting to forget that sometimes._

_I’m sorry they felt like they needed my permission to see you. Or maybe they felt like they had to sneak around behind my back, I don’t know. I’m certainly not going to ask. The point is, the idea that they’re going to see you today? It makes me happy. I’m not angry about it. I don’t want to be with them right now, seeing you, but I’m glad they’re going to do it. Because you deserve their love and support, too, the same way you always did. ~~It’s not like they’re unfamiliar with your penchant for poor decisions at this point.~~ Sorry, that last part got kind of harsh again. Not that it’s untrue. _

_Anyway. You’ll never see this, but maybe someday I’ll actually say some of it to you._

_I hope you had a good Thanksgiving. Mine was really good, for a lot of reasons, and it’s becoming pretty clear that no matter what happens, life moves on._

_I think I’m ready. I hope you will be someday soon too._

_Jack_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Bitty's apple peeler/corer! [[video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7alHvAxVDdQ)]
> 
> [Another course Bitty would possibly teach](http://rhysiana.tumblr.com/post/150240619068/i-haz-a-rezervation-youmightbeamisogynist). For the poisoning class, I was thinking of Deborah Blum's book _The Poisoner's Handbook_.
> 
> Yes, all the NHL games referenced in this chapter [actually happened on those dates](http://www.hockey-reference.com/leagues/NHL_2016_games.html). Because I (rhys) am that kind of person.
> 
> *Shitty's grandparents are unfortunately modeled closely on someone I know's actual grandparents, and I'm taking kind of vicious glee at working them into fanfic for gay hockey webcomic. (They're dead now, but every time I hear a new story about what they were like, things they actually did at family gatherings, I have Jack's reaction of "there are actually people like that?" Apparently so.) I hope Shitty never speaks to them again.


	4. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the semester approacheth! Will they get all their papers graded? Will Jack and Eric finally acknowledge they're actually flirting with each other?!

**December 15, 2015, Samwell University, Classroom 250**

The semester came to a close sooner than Eric realized. He was sitting in the front of the room beside Shitty, waiting for the students to finish their exams. Larissa and Jack paced slowly through the room, answering questions. There were fifteen minutes left in the exam, and the students were growing anxious, glancing between their watches and the sheets in front of them, and then at whichever professor caught their eye. They were done, but had to wait until the end of the time period to pick up their graded final papers before leaving.

It didn’t help that this was the last exam day of the semester and most of these students were just a few minutes away from a glorious three weeks of free time. The timer went off and there was a flurry of papers being turned in on the front table.

“Okay, everybody, your graded paper is with the professor you submitted it to!” Eric called. “We’ll hand them to you and then you can go.”

He passed out papers, patting backs and giving out a few words of encouragement as the students looked at their grades, grinned, and scurried out of the classroom. As the last student left, Eric collapsed onto his chair. “It’s over.”

Jack grinned, putting an arm around Larissa. “We did it.”

“Hell fucking yeah, we did!” Shitty whooped. “Now to grade these fuckers.” His hand thumped down on the untidy stack of exam.

They groaned in unison, then burst into peals of laughter. Eric couldn’t stop smiling. Belonging, he decided, felt great.

***

**December 18, 2015, Samwell University, Arts Boardroom**

Jack pulled at his tie. “This is so unnecessary.”

Shitty shrugged. “It’s a yearly thing, along with you complaining about it every December.”

“I quite like the idea,” Eric chipped in. “It’s nice to sit back and see everyone after the intense grading and gruelling actual work of the semester is over.”

They walked into the boardroom and were joined by Derek and Will, who were arguing over some insubstantial thing or another, and Chris, who was trying to mediate but kept being talked over.

They had just settled into their chairs when Justin and Adam entered. “The gang’s all here!”

“Except for Larissa.” Shitty commented, checking his watch, “she's never l--”

Larissa slid into the seat next to him. “I'm not late, and I didn't forget. I was talking to Professor Collins outside.”

Someone tapped the mic and they all looked up at Dr. Murray, the Arts and Social Sciences director, who cleared his throat. “This dinner marks the end of a great semester at Samwell. I want to thank all of you for putting in such a great effort.”

Everyone in the room clapped politely.

Dr. Murray went on, “As always, Samwell strives to recognize the efforts of both students and faculty, and hopes to reward those things that we admire. Tonight's dinner is, in keeping with that tradition, intended to celebrate the wonderful successes of our faculty. This year is particularly special because one of our faculty members spearheaded one of the most innovative courses at Samwell to date.”

Shitty nudged Jack. Jack ignored him.

“Professor Jack Zimmermann asked us to allow him to do an interdisciplinary course about the nature of the Second World War and the role of women in it, at the beginning of the last academic year. Through unanimous vote, we decided to let him. This semester he, along with Professors Bittle, Knight, and Duan, successfully carried out what we hope will become a type of course that we have available to students every semester. It was an outstanding success, a team effort, and a pleasure to supervise. Tonight, I'd like to present to Professor Jack Zimmermann a certificate of appreciation from the Arts Committee and the university at large.”

Shitty poked Jack, “Get up, you wonderful Canadian hero!”

Jack stood up and joined Dr. Murray on stage. “Um, I didn't prepare anything to say…”

“That’s all right,” Dr. Murray laughed good naturedly, “it was meant to be a surprise anyway. It's just a token of our gratitude and appreciation. Say a few words.”

Jack took the mic and accepted the certificate. “I'm a little surprised, honestly. I want to thank you all, the faculty and committee, for allowing this course to take place. There's many lessons to be learnt through working so closely with another group of people, and what I've learnt is that it's very nice to feel like you're part of a team. Back when I was playing hockey, my team in college used to have a saying: ‘We've got your back.’ I find that I feel the same way about my colleagues and friends at Samwell. I've got their backs. This semester and this course have taught me that they've got mine, too. Thank you.”

The applause was surprisingly loud for a faculty dinner, and Justin and Adam nearly leapt on Jack when he came back. “Man, that speech made me want to cry.”

Larissa hugged him, “That was great, Jack.”

Eric smiled. Jack felt his heart beat a bit faster.

“The second award we want to give out tonight is to a new addition to our faculty. Professor Eric Bittle has only been with us for one semester, but his personality and dedication to his work and his students has not gone unnoticed. He is a warm, exciting character to add to our faculty, and we are glad he's here with us.”

Eric blushed as Dr. Murray handed him a certificate. “Well. Thank you so much. After Jack’s speech, I don't know what else to say, except that Samwell has opened doors for me that I thought would always be closed. I can only hope for many more years of such professional satisfaction, education, and teamwork.”

When he sat back down, Jack squeezed his arm. They smiled at each other for a moment before turning their attention to Shitty and Larissa accepting their awards for co-running the WW2 course.

They settled down, grinning and chatting. Jack really felt, for the first time in ages, that things were slowly but surely looking up.

***

**December 21, 2015, Eric Bittle’s Apartment**

Jack woke up, taking a few minutes to recall why he wasn’t in his own bed. He grinned when he remembered how his offer to take Eric to the airport had been turned into “an adult slumber party, brah!” by Shitty, eventually involving him, Shitty, and Lardo staying at Eric’s apartment for two days and a dinner party for all their friends still in town. Eric had thrown himself into the planning of a grand dinner for that night, the night before they all flew out to spend Christmas and New Year’s with their families, so Jack suspected he’d better get up or risk being reawakened with an airhorn. He stretched and then grabbed a t-shirt from his open bag, pulling it on as he stepped out into the hall.

Shitty and Larissa were curled together on the couch when Jack walked into the kitchen, feet softly touching the warm wooden floors. Eric was already in the kitchen, whisking something in a bowl on one counter, chopping things on another counter, moving swiftly but quietly, humming softly. There was something there that made Jack stop for longer than he meant to in the doorway: the sunlight pouring in from the kitchen window, or the golden tousled glow of his hair, or the smell and feel of homemade domesticity. He shook his head, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning, Jack!” Eric said, smiling. “Did you sleep well?”

Jack smiled back. “Yeah. How come you’re already cooking?”

“The boys are coming over for dinner! There’s turkey to stuff, cranberries to sauce, vegetables to sauté, potatoes to mash, pies to be made, breakfast to be had.”

Eric continued dancing around the kitchen. Jack watched for a minute, noting that it wasn’t the rushing about of someone who had to do things for the sake of doing them, for the formality of it, the need to impress. It was the rushing about of someone who had poured his heart and soul into creating something, who chopped onions and fried chicken the way Larissa wielded paintbrushes and sculpted clay. These were the movements of someone who cooked to feed, something Jack didn’t really understand why he liked so much.

Jack sat down on a stool at the kitchen island. “Why do you like food so much?”

“Food is love, Jack.”

“But it’s not! Food just doesn’t do the same thing.”

“No. It’s a manner of expression. It’s the way I grew up, Jack. Food provides comfort.”

Jack remembered the way Eric had fed Shitty at Thanksgiving and had to concede the point. He propped a hand under his chin and watched Eric work. “What kind of pie are we having?”

“An apple pie and a blueberry pie.”

“Maple-crusted apple?”

“Sure,” Eric smiled. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“I can make breakfast!”

Eric look scandalized. “Jack, I have seen the food you eat. You eat to survive.”

“That’s not the point of eating, is it?”

“Not even close.”

Jack watched as Eric whipped up a tall stack of pancakes and made a pan full of scrambled eggs, talking constantly throughout. Jack listened. Jack had learned to listen to voices, to hear things that were not being said, but with Eric everything seemed so pure. There were no hidden motives or malicious intentions, and Jack couldn’t stop listening as Eric talked about the college radio, his students, his parents, how he was making the pie using an old family recipe, and Jack let Eric envelope him in this domestic dream.

He tried not to think too much about it. A warm feeling in the bottom of his stomach was making its way to his chest, and he thought it was the sunlight splayed across the kitchen, the pancakes he had just eaten, the coffee he was drinking, the sound of Shitty and Larissa waking up, but his eyes kept being drawn back to Eric, his chin resting on his hands as he spoke to Jack while sipping coffee.

***

Eric adjusted the flowers in the vase he had put on the table when Jack came in to stand right in front of Eric. “Red tie or blue tie?”

Eric laughed, taking both ties from Jack’s hand to hold them against his shirt. “The red. More Christmassy.”

“Why are we wearing ties anyway?” Jack grumbled as he put it on, but he was smiling.

Eric felt his stomach flip like it had when he was nineteen and holding hands with his first college boyfriend, but he shook his head. He settled for patting Jack’s shoulder and saying, “Because I said so.”

Jack was still smiling when he followed Eric into the kitchen. “Everything smells great.”

“Why thank you,” Eric replied, busying himself with the rearranging cucumbers on a tray, trying to force down the heat in his cheeks before he could turn back to look at Jack again.

The doorbell rang, and before Eric could react, Jack was answering the door. The heat on Eric’s cheeks expanded into a heavy feeling in his chest when it dawned on him how _at home_ Jack looked opening the door and greeting guests into Eric’s home. As if it was his own, though he had barely been there two days. Eric forced himself to exhale; now was not the time to dwell on such ridiculous hopes.

He straightened his bowtie and left the kitchen. “You’re all here!”

“We found these two standing in front of their car arguing about who was the better navigator,” Chris said, gesturing at Derek and Will, who were blushing sheepishly like children.

“It’s me, for the record,” Will said. “And anyway, Caitlin and Chris were in the car necking like college students.”

Chris turned red. “So were Adam and Justin.”

“We are above snitching on anyone,” Adam said loftily, pretending to be offended.

“Also, there’s no one left to snitch on,” Jack said. “Though we haven’t seen Shitty and Larissa in about an hour.”

“We’re coming!” Shitty yelled from down the hall, “LARS! They’re here!”

“Where were you guys?” Eric asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see!” Shitty smiled, as Larissa joined them.

Eric looked at him quizzically but decided not to question it, “Drinks?”

***

At the dinner table, William put his fork down. “Guys, Derek and I have an announcement.”

Eric put his own spoon down to give them his full attention.

“Is everything okay?” Shitty asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes! Everything's great, actually. Better than ever,” Derek replied. “Don't worry.”

“My sister emailed me at the start of the semester about how she finally got this amazing research opportunity, one she'd been working so hard for, and she couldn't turn down,” Will continued. “But her fiancé left her back when he found out she was pregnant and she's been raising Siobhan alone… Anyway, the offer is amazing and everything she's ever worked towards and she couldn't say no.” Will paused for a moment and reached for Derek's hand. “She asked us to adopt Siobhan and… We said yes. We've just finished filing for the adoption. She'll be coming to live with us in April.”

“That's fucking terrific!” Adam nearly shouted in excitement.

“How old is she?” Eric asked. “Oh my gosh, you're going to be parents!”

“We have books!” Chris chimed in. “On literally everything about kids you're ever going to need to know!”

“And a lot of things you really don't need to know,” Caitlin added.

“Was the legal process difficult? I know a guy!”

“A baby girl! How adorable! Do you guys have pictures?”

“Derek, this is your dream come true!”

Other than a hearty congratulations, Jack didn't say much at all. Eric snuck a glance at him and noticed the shadow of regret in Jack's eyes, despite the smile. He nearly reached out to fold Jack's hand in his own, or to touch Jack in some way, or to say something to him, but said instead, “This calls for celebratory champagne!” and retreated to the kitchen.

When he came back, Jack was discussing infant care with Justin and Derek, as at ease as ever.

Eric poured the champagne.

***

“Dinner was amazing, Eric.”

“I’m glad y’all liked it!”

“This should definitely be a tradition,” Adam commented.

“Dinner is great, but can we get to the presents?!” Shitty asked, walking back into the living room with a pile of presents in his arms. “This is what was taking Lars so long.”

Larissa threw a chestnut at Shitty, “Don’t blame me. You’re the one who took too long to get me the paper I asked for.”

“Presents!”

There was a rustle of packaging as they passed around the wrapped presents to each other. Eric passed out pie, settling into the couch beside Jack.

Jack raised an arm and put it around Eric’s shoulders, waiting for Eric to stiffen, or move away, or look uncomfortable. Eric simply pressed his shoulder into Jack’s and took a bite of his pie, smiling at everyone exclaiming over the personalized art pieces Larissa had somehow managed to find time to make for everyone.

Jack wasn’t sure how he felt, right then, but it was good. It was good.

***

“You’re okay with me staying another night, right?” Jack asked again as he watched Shitty pull out of the driveway, off to take both himself and Larissa to Boston.

“Lord, Jack, you’re driving me to the airport tomorrow at 7 in the morning and you’re asking me if i mind you staying over.”

Jack grinned. “And technically, I’ll only be sleeping a couple of hours, since it’s already ten.”

Eric shook his head, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Do you want to watch something before we head up?”

“Sure.” Eric switched on the television. “What do you want to watch?”

“World War Two documentary?” Jack suggested, straight-faced.

Eric hit him with a pillow.

***

**December 22, 2015, Boston, Logan International Airport**

“Jack, honestly, you really didn’t have to come in with me! You’re going to have to pay for parking now,” Eric scolded.

Jack just smiled. “Just wanted to make sure you made it in with everything.” He had insisted on carrying Eric’s full-sized suitcase. He was in fact currently carrying it up the stairs rather than take the escalator, even though the dang thing certainly had wheels. This boy. What was he trying to prove? “How do you have so much to take back for just two weeks, anyway?”

“I have presents in there! And I may have picked up some New England-specific cookbooks for Mama. She collects regional recipes. And the weather can be changeable, so I needed to be prepared with layers…” He trailed off and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Jack. “I suppose you’re going home with a single small duffel bag?”

Jack held up his free hand in protest of his innocence. “I’m not that much of a jock.” He paused and cocked his head thoughtfully to the side. “Or maybe I am just that much of a former professional jock? In any case, I will be going home with a single proper suitcase, emphasis on suit, because one does not show up at the Zimmermanns’ during the holiday season without proper attire. Also my laptop bag. And five books. Much like I have always traveled.”

Eric grinned at this vision of what Jack’s NHL life had been like. He wished he’d had more of an interest in hockey back then. Maybe he’d look up some of Jack’s old games while he was home. He was so lost in these thoughts that he startled slightly when Jack put his hand on his shoulder to guide him to the Delta desk. “Oh, thanks.”

Jack hung back while Eric dealt with checking his bag, and then they were facing each other slightly awkwardly as they realized it was time to say goodbye. Eric hitched his messenger bag slightly higher on his shoulder as he searched for the right words. He should have just been able to wave and say “see you in two weeks!” but the charged atmosphere between them felt like it warranted more. Unless he was imagining things.

And then Jack reached out and cradled Eric’s jaw in his hand, running his fingers into the hair at Eric’s nape. Eric’s breath caught as he stared into Jack’s eyes. Jack gave him a small, questioning half-smile, but Eric barely registered it before he had moved in… and then they were kissing. It was soft and perfect and not particularly tentative on either of their parts, because they’d both clearly been thinking the same thing… and it was in the middle of the airport, Eric suddenly realized, which had him smiling a bit too much to maintain the kiss. He drew back.

“Well then,” he said.

Jack was having similar issues controlling his face. “I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Please. I’ll _call_ you. As soon as I get home.”

“Even better.”

Eric caught sight of a clock and realized he needed to get into the security line very soon. He shook his head. “We need to work on our timing, Mr. Zimmermann. We could have been doing that for weeks.”

Jack laughed. “Guess it gives us something to look forward to in the new year.”

“Mmm. That it does.”

Eric couldn’t resist giving Jack one last saucy look over his shoulder as he disappeared through the security checkpoint. Because of course Jack was still waiting. Eric got the feeling he could count on Jack waiting for him for a long time to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all we have so far! I know, I know, I'm sorry, but look! We got you to The Kiss! This is a good place to pause, right?
> 
> We do have notes on Semester 2 already, but it's unclear when we're going to have time to write it, because _somebody_ decided it was a good idea to take 6 classes in a single semester. *rhys squints at stories with deep concern*
> 
> Anyway, to try to make up for this at least a little bit, you may note that this fic is part of a series, because there are already two side-stories from this universe, so if you'd like the story behind Nursey and Dex's adoption (and then a vision of them as parents a few years into the future), continue onward. Hopefully other side stories will be added as well.


End file.
